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—__ 

[fflERCAKTME 


JOUENAL; 


OR, 


FIVE YEARS IN BRITISH PRISONS. 


MMENCED ON BOARD THE SHEARWATER STEAMER, IN DUBLIN BAY, CONTINUED AT SPIKB 
ISLAND—ON BOARD THE SCOURGE WAR STEAMER—ON BOARD TnE “ DROMEDARY ” 
HULK, BERMUDA—ON BOARD THE NEPTUNE CONVICT SniP—AT PERNAMBUCO 
—AT THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE (DURING THE ANTI-CONVICT REBELLION) 

—AT VAN DIEMEN’S LAND—AT SYDNEY—AT TAHITI—AT SAN 
FRANCISCO—AT GREYTOWN—AND CONCLUDED AT 
NO. 3 PIER, NORTH RIVER, NEW YORK. 


BY JOHN MITCHEL. 


—Our’ tv rotg (pOcpevoi-i 
Ovt’ tv £cog/.v api.Ofinv/ixvnc. 



PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE OF THE “CITIZEN,” . 


No. 3 SPRUCE STREET. 


1854 







V 




la r 


CW -mJ 


f > .' « / ; , 

. ♦ ' > ?-* 




Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1S54, by 
JOIIN MITCHEL, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 

District of New York. 



\ 


W. II. TINSON, 
PRINTER AND STEREOTYPER. 
24 Beckman Street. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTORY. 

Irish History belongs to England—How she tells it—Another Version—Ireland 
finally subdued five-times—The Penal Laws—Irish Industry, how fostered—Agri¬ 
culture—Our Forefathers’ Famines—Berkeley—Swift’s “Proposal” for a Relief 
Measure—Eighteen years—Ireland unprotected and unameliorated—The Volun¬ 
teers—Project of the Union —Union carried—Famines in 1S1T and ’22—The 
O’Connell Agitations—“ Emancipation ”—Extermination—Devon Commission— 
Campaign against the Celts—Slaughter—The Last Famine—British Law helps 
the Famine—The Famine helps British Law—Utter Desolation—Project for 
Resistance at last—Clubs—Pikes— United Irishman —Lord Clarendon—Birch, 
Privy Counsellor to the Viceroy—Treason Felony—O’Brien and Meagher—Trial 
by one’s Country—British Providence works out his wise Dispensations . 9 

CHAPTER I. 

Newgate—Travelling Toilet—Drive to the North Wall—“ No Disturbance ”—Hospi¬ 
talities of the Shearwater—Capt. Hall of the “Dragon”—Not Basil Hall—Self- 
Interrogation—My fellow-Felons—Spike Island—Edward W’alsh—Order for 
removal to Bermuda—The “Scourge” War Steamer—At Sea ... 25 

CHAPTER II. 

Yachting in the “Scourge”—Two Years before the Mast—Review of an Edin¬ 
burgh Reviewer—The Nineteenth Century—Bombarding the Moon—Macaulay 
on Bacon—The New Philosophy—Chasing our own Shadows—Good Night, 
Nineteenth Century !—Bermuda—“ Ireland Island” ..... 42 

CHAPTER III. 

An English Steamer—The Morning Post —Edmund Burke Roche—The “Irish 
Felon”—Handed over to a Man in Blue—Receipt taken—Hospitalities of the 
“Dromedary”—Genesis and Growth of the Bermudas—Description of ray Cell 
—Precautions against Mutiny—Removed to an Hospital-ship for ten days—Back 
again—The -Devil’s Acre, or Cemetery of Cut-throats—Sympathy in New York— 
Precautions at Bermuda against an American Squadron—Prison Biography- 
Suicide, pro and contra —The 42d Highlanders—Discipline—Letter from Ire¬ 
land . ... 58 





iv 


CONTENTS. 


CHATTER IV. 

Precautions against my Receipt of News from Ireland—“The last Planks of 
the Constitution ”—Contraband Intelligence—English Chartists Imprisoned— 
Meagher Arrested—Martin, Williams arid O’Doherty committed for “ Felony ” 
—Warrant out against O’Brien—“ Government ” will have to pack Juries—Duty 
of Juries in Ireland—Method of Rigmarole—“ Books ”—Feeding like the Lapland¬ 
ers or the Ducks of Pontus—Necessity of Work—Autobiographies—Gifford, 
Elwood and Crichton—Gibbon, Evelyn and Rousseau—Sulky prisoners—Cut¬ 
throats attending Divine Service—More Contraband Intelligence—John Martin 
transported—Ilabeas-Corpus Act suspended—Gaols Full—Dumas—Attempted 
Insurrection in Tipperary—-Failure—Flight—Famine—Clonmel Juries . 76 


CHAPTER Y. 

London Paper falls from Heaven—O’Brien, Meagher, M’Manus, O’Donoghue, 
Sentenced to Death—Kindness of the Spirit of the Age—General Estimate of the 
Results of this Irish Movement—O’Connell’s Son and the Catholics—Letter from 
New York—The French Republic and the Carthaginian Newspapers —Herr Hop- 
ganger Expostulates with the Ego —Republicanism in the Abstract—In the 
Concrete—France marches in the Van —DoppeZganger Severely Handled in 
Argument —Doppelganger stands out—The Credit-funds, Peace and Progress- 
Courage, Jacobins!—The Ego leaves Herr Doppelganger not a Leg to stand 
upon—“ Arterial Drainage” . 94 

CHAPTER VI. 

Escape of ihiee Cut-throats not Pursuit—Capture—Solemn mangling of the Cut¬ 
throats—Six Months in Bermuda—Sickness—More Bad Books—Life of Walter 
Scott, Of Cowper Fallback on Rabelais—Shakespeare for ever !—Sir Alexander 
Burnes—His Journey up the Indus—Takes Soundings for British War Steamers— 
Surveys Hyderabad with a View to British Burglary—Examines the Capacities 
of Lahore for British Cotton and Christianity—Takes the Measure of the Koh-i- 
noor in the Interests of Civilization—Band of the A2d —Captain Alexander’s Book 
—Sickness—Medical Superintendent tells me I am going to die soon—Note to the 
Governor of Bermuda. 110 


CHAPTER VII. 

The “First Mate”-Goethe never in the Galleys-Prospect of a Ship for the Cape 
of Good Hope—“ Trial ” and Doom of O’Doherty—The Catholic Clergy— Christ¬ 
mas on board the « Dromedary ’’—News of Election of Louis Napoleon for Presi¬ 
dent-Deadly Sickness, and Living against Time—Literary Deposit, in Six Strata 
—Uses of Bad Books—Metaphysics—Bermuda a School of Reformation— Irish 
liLoneis graduate for the Gallows—Criminal Jurisprudence—A Plea for the 

Drop—Prayer for the Soul of Walter Scott—Order to dispatch me to the Cape__ 

A “ Spirit of Disaffection ” in Ireland still—Sad 1 .... m 



CONTENTS. 


V 


CHAPTER VIII. 

\ 

Fen Months’ Bondage—Arrival of the “Neptune,” Bound for the Cape—Perils of 
British Rule in Ireland—Trial of the Editor of the Nation —Editor a Recreant- 
Removal to the Hospital Ship again—Reflections unusually Pious—News from 
Europe and Asia—Lord Gough in the Punjab—Imaginary Programme of 
European Movements—Preparing for Voyage to Africa—Phenomena of Memory 
—Innocence of Childhood—The Pen of Rigmarole—The “Scourge” again— 
British Public Opinion—Parliamentary Falsehoods by Admiral Dundas and Lord 
Lansdowne—At Sea once more—Bright Prospects—O’Connell, a Portrait- 
Conversation with “ Surgeon Superintendent ”.145 


CHAPTER IX. 

An American Brig—Stray Copy of the Daily News —Memorial on behalf of Mr. Duffy 
—The Failure at Ballingarry—Arms Bills—Use of Riots—French Army besieging 
Rome—“ Order ”—Hungary holds her Ground—Review of my Shipmates— 
Becalmed for Many Weeks—Sickness—Short of Water—The Dead to the Sharks 
—Tropic Seas—Danger of Mutiny—The Paf'son Frightened—Pernambuco— 
Oranges—Slaves—No “ Facts ” in my Journal—Humboldt’s Howling Monkeys— 
Cyanometer—English Papers at Pernambuco—Six Irish Rebels on their Way to 
Van Diemen’s Land—Two American Skippers—Prince Louis Napoleon on this 
Coast—Home Secretary think 3 me Dead—Brazilians, “ Lazy Foreign Lub¬ 
bers ”.161 


CHAPTER X. 

Slaves and Slave-trade in Brazil—Benevolent Pirates—Elections in Brazil—Vanish 
South America—Ocean Visions—Lessons from Sea-Pigeons—British Convict 
System—The Railway Swindler—The Railway King—Habits of British Soldiers 
—Promotion to the Hulks—Night at Sea—The Irish Prisoners—Dismal Songs— 
The Cape of Good Hope—Africa, Beware!—Africa Brings Forth Aliquid 
Novi ..175 


CHATTER XI. » 

Ferment at the Cape—British Governor under Duress—“ Anti-Convict Association ” 
—News of O’Brien and the “ Traitors ”—Neptune at Anchor—Simon’s Bay—Cape 
Heaths and Geranium—Anti-Convict Council of War—Simultaneous Meetings— 
Note from the Governor—Anti-Convict Pledge—Starvation—Dr. Dees falls Sick 
—Excitement increases—Cape Newspapers—The Bandieten —The 18th of August 
in Zwartland—The Boers—Starvation—Fishing to support Existence—Non-inter¬ 
course—Steward of the Neptune —Our Skipper ashore—People will hold no 
Intercourse—Indignation of the Men-of-war’s Men—Commodore rides on a 
Foray.196 




CONTENTS. 


vi 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ Committee of Vigilance ”—Business at a stand in Capetown—The Moderates and 
Iinmoderates—Dr. Dees dead—A Rebel Bishop— Violent Ferment in the Interior— 
Advantage of inhabiting a Sphaeroid—Rage of the Colonists—Resolution to shut 
Shops—Mr. Ebden-—Fairbairn, able Editor—Mynheer Smuts—Chances of a Revolt 
—Cape Wines—Traitors Excommunicated—Benjamin Norden—Captain Stanford 
feeds Sir Harry—The Neptune “Instructor” would a-shopping go—No Inter¬ 
course—Solemn Fast—Secretary Montague—The Coolies grow Hungry—Mobs 
—Suggestion for Sir Harry—Wives or reputed Wives.202 

CHAPTER XIII. 

News from Europe—Hungary still holds her ground—“ Opinion stronger than 
Arms ”—Dublin Nation, New Series—Queen in Ireland—Tim O’Brien—Young Ire¬ 
land nowhere—Her Majesty in a “ green silk visite ”—Does not visit Skibbereen 
—Thomas Carlyle in Ireland—Dispatch from England—Hungary is Down—Kos¬ 
suth and Bern—Hungary Immortal—England in Asia—England in Europe—The 
“ Future of America ”—Dublin Nation again—The Irishman —Government- 
Massacre in Ireland—A Slave-ship—The Southern Hemisphere—Confusion of 
Feasts and Fasts—The Anti-Convict Association—Letter of W..P. Laubscher— 
Letter of Hendrick Morkel.215 

CHAPTER XIV. 

No Dispatch—“Wearing the Ring of our Anchor ”—An Alarm—Victor of Aliwa! 
Shall not have a Statue—Curious Law-suit—Plaintiffs and Defendants Repudiate 
the Judges—News of the “ Felons ” in Van Diemen’s Land—Dispatch at Last— 
Conditional Pardon to all on Board ; —“ Except Prisoner Mitchel ”—Pleasing 
Anticipations—English Newspapers—Ireland Tranquil—Neptune gets Ready for 
Sea—Rejoicings—Illuminations—Good-night to Africa—Van Diemen’s Land 
Appears—D’Entrecasteaux’ Channel—Hobart Town—Official Documents— 
Ticket-of-Leave—Parole—The Irish Exile Newspaper—A Smoke with John 
Martin.. 227 

CHAPTER XV. 

Valley of Bothwell—The Gum-trees—Balsam in the Forest—Rendezvous at Lake 
Sorel—Snow-Storm in the Woods—Lake Crescent—Cooper’s Hut—Meeting with 
Meagher and O’Doherty—Evil Plight of Smith O’Brien—The “ Dog’s Head 
Ride to Bothwell.241 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Tasmanian Hills—A Scottish Glen in Van Diemen’s Land—Letter from Smith 
O’Brien—Generosity of the “British Public’’—Colonists at Home—Irish News¬ 
papers—Conciliation Hall—Irish Factions in New York—Rebels at Church— 
Rebels at the Lakes—“ Reformatory Discipline’’—Write for my Family—Visit 
from McManus—The Lakes again—The River Shannon—A Rhapsody of Rivers— 
Clarence Mangan—Sample of Tasmanian Population—Hiatus in the Journal- 
Go to Hobart-town to receive my Wife.255 





CONTENTS. 


vii 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Ride to Brown’s River—Wardens—Flowers of Van Diemen’s Land—Kindly Climate 
—Breeds of Dogs and Horses—Men and Women—A Beauty—St. Kevin—Roman¬ 
tic Residence for Burglars—My Wife arrives at Adelaide—Expected at Laun¬ 
ceston—I go to lyaunceston—Imprisonment there for 24 Hours—Mr. Gunn— 
Letter to the Colonial Times —Arrival of my Wife in Hobart-town—Meeting 
at Greenponds—Back to Bothwell.261 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Nant Cottage—Ride to Avoca—Visit to Mr. O’Brien—Vigor of Sir W. Denison—• 
“Clemency” of Government—Van Diemen’s Land Stage-coaches—Tasmania a 
Bastard England—Van Diemen’s Land Election—Anti-Transportation—The 
Australasian League—Balfe—Policy of the Gaoler Party—Valley of Avoca— 
Meeting with O’Brien—A Day spent with Him—The Priests in Tipperary—His 
Attempt to Escape from Maria Island—Return to Bothwell . . . 270 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A Family of Irish Colonists—Mrs. Connell and the Bushrangers—Ride up the Moun¬ 
tains—Meagher and his Dog—Lake Sorel on the Mountain-top—Visit to Meagher’s 
Cottage—Meagher aids the “ League ”—Loveliness of Lake Sorel—Tricolor and 
Fleur-de-lis—Ride to Nant Cottage—Young Kangaroo—Hiatus in the Journal— 
New Year’s Day, 1853—Stupor and Torpor of our Life—No Thunder and 
Lightning—Kossuth in America—Meagher in America . . . . 2S1 


CHAPTER XX. 

A Kangaroo-hunt—Dean and Dart—Incredible Sagacity—Three Kangaroos killed 
—Philosophic Reflections—My Convict Haymakers—Descent into Hell—Letter 
from Devin Reilly—Reilly on the Republicans—His Interview with Kossuth—An 
Intellectual Kalmuck—The Celt leciures the Kalmuck—Reilly and the Democratic 
Review—Ilis Sorrows—His Wife—Senator Douglas, “ Spicy to the Core.” 291 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Reilly’s Letter—Failure of “ the People ’’—The Whig Peview—A Gascon Irishman 
—A Scarlet Democrat, Piratic and Honest—Mr. Corry—Irish Affairs—The Priests 
and Holy Wells—Destiny of Reilly—Haymaker goes to the Diggings—A Stranger 
Appears amongst us—P. J. Smyth—Meeting with O’Doherty and O’Brien—Smyth 
in Hobart-town—We visit O’Brien at New Norfolk—Consultations about Escape 
—To Bothwell—Smyth Reconnoitres the Police Office—His Life in America. Day¬ 
light begins to dawn.80S 1 



CONTENTS. 


Vlll 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Smyth at Lake Sorel—Goes to Melbourne—I buy the Police Magistrate’s Horse- 
Letter from Nicaragua —The Waterlily—Plan of Escape—Plan Discovered— 
Council of War—Arrest of Nicaragua —I visit Hobart-town—Resolution taken 
—New Plan of Escape—We ride into Bothwell—I revoke my Parole before the 
Magistrate—Conversation in Police Office—Offer Myself for Arrest—Adieu to 
Bothwell—A Day’s Hard Riding—A Winter’s Night in the Forest—Job Simms’ 
Cottage—The Beard Movement—An English Guide—Meet a new Friend on the 
Mountains—Ride to Westbury—News of Nicaragua—The Police Force on the 
alert.313 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Nicaragua in Hobart-town—The “ Don Juan ”—Rendezvous at Emu Bay— 
Winter Floods—Emu Bay inaccessible—Express to the “Don Juan”—Ride to 
Port Sorel—Savage Country—Home of an Irish Settler—Irish Customs—A 
Caoine in the Bush—Crossing a Ravine—Another Night in the Woods—The Sea 
at last!—No “ Don Juan ”—At Mr. Miller’s—Miller an Englishman—Retreat 
within a Mile of a Police-Barrack—Project to Sail as Miller’s Brother—Messen¬ 
gers from Launceston—Severe Riding—Boating-party proposed—Night Ex¬ 
pedition down the Tamar.* . . . 320 

CHAPTER XXIY. 

Another Disappointment—Flight down the River—Barrett’s Boat—We miss the 
Steamer—Back to Launceston—The Chapel House—Father Blake—Meeting with 
O’Doherty—Father Blake at Hobart-town— Nicaragua —Mr. Davis unhappy— 
To Sail by the “ Emma”—Farewell to Van Diemen’s Land—Sydney . . 33S 


CHAPTER XX Y. 

Sydney—My Wife at Wooloomooloo—The “ Orkney Lass ’’—Take Passage for 
Honolulu—Dangerous Delays—Sail for the Sandwich Islands—My Fellow-voy¬ 
agers—Four Actresses—Tahiti—Papeete—Actresses give a Concert—French 
Frigate “ Le Forte’’—Ride up the Fowtowa River—Bass’s Pale Ale—Gala at 
Queen Pomare’s Palace—The Tahitian Girls—The “ Julia Ann ” appears—The 
Stars and Stripes—Off for San Francisco—California—Isthmus of Nicaragua— 
The San Juan River—Grey town . 343 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Greytown—The Pampero—Cuba and the Cubans—News from Europe—The Czar is 
up—Refreshment for the Refugees—Kossuth—Mazzini—Ireland—Leaving Grey¬ 
town—Nicaragua lectures on Central America—Arrive at Cuba—The Moro— 
Havana—Atares Castle—Cuba and Ireland—Captain General’s Palace—Dublin 
Castle—Pass near Bermuda—Doubts—New York at last—Brooklyn . . 361 



INTRODUCTORY. 


♦ 


England has been left in possession not only of the Soil of Ireland, with all that 
grows and lives thereon, to her own use, but in possession of the world’s ear also. 
She may pour into it what tale she will: and all mankind will believe her. 

Success confers every right in this enlightened age ; wherein, for the first time, 
it has come to be admitted and proclaimed in set terms, that Success is Right, and 
Defeat is Wrong. If I profess myself a disbeliever in that gospel, the enlightened 
age will only smile, and say, “ the defeated always are.” Britain being in 
possession of the floor, any hostile comment upon her way of telling our story is an 
unmannerly interruption ; nay, is nothing short of an Irish howl. 

And if Ireland be indeed conquered finally and unredeemably, it would be 
useless to importune the busy Public (which has a good heart enough, but really 
no time to attend to the grievances of mendicants), with any contradiction to the 
British story.—A touching and sanctimonious tale it is !—barbarian Celtic nature 
for ever revolting in its senseless, driftless way, against the genius of British 
civilization—generous efforts for the amelioration of “ that portion of the United 
Kingdom,” met for ever by brutal turbulence, “ crime and outrage,” suspicion, 
ingratitude—British benevolence stretching forth its open hand to relieve those 
same turbulent but now starving wretches, when Heaven "smote the land with 
Famine—the anxieties, the cares, the expenses, that an unthrift island cost her 
more prosperous sister, who would not, for all that, desert her in her extremity, 
but would ameliorate her to the last. 

So it runs ; and so it might pass unchallenged for ever, if one could believe that 
the last conquest of Ireland was indeed the final and crowning conquest. But that 
Nation has been so often dead and buried, and has so often been born again—one 
and the same man sometimes both assisting at the rocking of her cradle, and as 
chief-mourner following her hearse, that there is no trusting to this seeming death. 
Mountjoy gave Ireland to Elizabeth, “nothing but carcasses and ashes,” dead 
enough. In half a century, the carcasses are armed men, the ashes flaming 
fire; and an Oliver Cromwell has to come over to smite and to slay again. 
Ireland was conquered by Cromwell, literally and universally. The cause of 
Ireland—Ireland as against England—was what all men would call lost: her 
castles rifted by the regicide’s cannon; her fields laid waste, and the inheritance 

1* 



10 


INTKODIJOTORY. 


of them given to strangers; her best and bravest in bloody graves, or wasting and 
weltering in the Western Indies;—at her sister’s feet she lay a corpse. A few 
years pass; she is not yet cold in her grave;—and again all Europe hears the 
clang of arms in Ireland. Again the cause is Ireland against England, though the 
flags be the flags of Stuart against Orange-Nassau. Though the war-cry be Pugh 
/Seamus Aboo ! yet the war means Ireland for the Irish. 

And again, a King and Deliverer of England comes over the sea to crush, kill, 
and trample Ireland:—and again Ireland dies: on the Boyne stream her heart’s 
blood runs to the sea ; at the “ Break of Aughrim” her neck is broken ; and when 
the Wild Geese fly from Limerick, England feels at last secure: surely this time 
her sister and mortal enemy is dead past all resurrection. 

Not yet! Another gloomy and uneasy century drags along; the age of the 
Penal Laws. The English government never yet observed any single treaty 
which it was convenient for them to break; and having solemnly agreed by the 
capitulation of Limerick not to impose penalties for Catholic worship, and having 
so disarmed the Catholic forces and ended the war,—that Government, as a matter 
of course, at once imposed penal laws through their servile Anglo-Irish Parliament. 
Everybody has heard of the terrible Penal Laws; but not everybody knows what 
they were. 

They took charge of every Catholic from his cradle, and attended him to his 
grave—Catholic children could only be educated by Protestant teachers at home ; 
and it was highly penal to send them abroad for education. 

Catholics were excluded from every profession, except the medical; and from all 
official stations without exception. 

Catholics were forbidden to exercise trade or commerce in any corporate town. 

Catholics were legally disqualified to hold leases of land for a longer tenure than 
thirty-one years ; and also disqualified to inherit the lands of Protestant relatives. 

A Catholic could not legally possess a horse of greater value than five pounds ; 
and any true Protestant meeting a Catholic with a horse of fifty or sixty pounds in 
value, might lay down the legal price of five pounds, unhorse the idolator, mount’ 
in his place, and ride away. 

A Catholic child, turning Protestant, could sue his parent for maintenance; to 
be determined by the Protestant Court of Chancery. 

A Catholic’s eldest son, turning Protestant, reduced his father to a tenant-for- 
life, the reversion to the convert. 

A Catholic priest could not celebrate mass, under severe penalties; but any 
priest who recanted was secured a stipend by law. 

Here was a code for the promotion of true religion; from whence it may appear, 
that Catholics have not been the only persecutors in the world. Some persons 
may even go so far as to say that no Catholic government ever yet conceived in 
its heart so fell a system of oppression. However, it may be a circumstance in 
favor of the Protestant code (or it may not), that whereas Catholics have really 
persecuted for religion, enlightened Protestants only made a pretext of religion,— 
taking no thought what became of Catholic souls, if only they could get possession 
of Catholic lands and goods. Also, we may remark, that Catholic governments, in 
their persecutions, always really desired the conversion of misbelievers (albeit 
their method was rough)—but in Ireland if the people had universally turned 
Protestant, it would have defeated the whole scheme. 

Edmund Burke calls this Penal Code “a machine of wise and deliberate con* 


INTRODUCTORY. 


11 


trivance, as we.l fitted for the oppression, impoverishment and degradation of a 
people, and the debasement in them of human nature itself, as ever proceeded 
from the perverted ingenuity of man.” Singular, that it originated with the 
“ Glorious Revolution,” and was in full force during the reign of William the 
Deliverer, Ann, and the three first gracious Georges! 

And it answered the purpose. The Irish People were impoverished and debased. 
And so the English, having forbidden them for generations to go to school, became 
entitled to taunt them with ignorance: and having deprived them of lands, and 
goods, and trade, magnanimously m'ock their poverty, and call them tatterde¬ 
malions. 

During that eighteenth century, the Catholics disappear from history and 
politics. Such sallies of resistance as were made in those years against the 
encroachment of British power, were made by Protestants (Swift, Lucas, Moly- 
neux), in assertion of a Protestant Nationality, and for the independence of a 
Protestant Parliament. Indeed, when the Protestant Dissenters of England 
argued for the repeal of the Corporation Act and Test Act, which prevented them 
from holding certain State offices, Dean Swift, the Irish patriot, wrote a sarcastic 
Petition, as if from the Irish Catholics, praying that they might be relieved from 
their penal disabilities; in order to cast ridicule and discredit on the pretensions 
of Dissenters, by way of reductio ad absurdum —We will have the very Catholics, 
said he, coming in next 1 

We might well expect, by the close of that century, to find Ireland altogether 
Anglicised,—the Catholics all dead or converted,—the ruling classes so completely 
British in their feelings as well as by their extraction, that England would never 
more need to fear the uprising of a hostile Irish Nation. Ireland was to albhuman 
appearance dead and buried this time. 

And in truth so she might have lain for ever, if the English could have repressed 
their national greediness (or “ energy”) but a little. But it was impossible. The 
ruling class of Ireland, albeit Profestants, were soon taught that they were not to 
expect to be placed on an equal footing with men “ whose limbs were made in 
England.” Express enactments were made, to put an end to several branches of 
their trade, and to cramp and restrict others.* Agriculture too, which is the main 

* In 1699 the manufacture of wool into cloth was totally destroyed in Ireland by 
law. Acts of the British and Irish Parliaments (the latter being wholly subject to 
the former) prohibited the export of woollen cloth from Ireland to-any country what¬ 
soever, except to England and Wales. The exception was delusive, because duties 
amounting to a prohibition prevented the Irish cloth from entering England or 
Wales. Before that time Ireland bad a good trade in woollen drapery with foreign 
countries, and undersold the English. Therefore the British Parliament addressed 
King William urging him to suppress the traffic. The House of Lords used this 
language—“ Wherefore we most humbly beseech your most sacred Majesty, that 
your Majesty would be pleased, in the most public and effectual way that may be, 
to declare to all your subjects of Ireland, that the growth and increase of the 
woollen-manufactures there hath long been, and will be ever, looked upon with 
great jealousy by all your subjects of this kingdom, and if not timely remedied , 
may occasion very strict laws totally to prohibit it and suppress the same." 
King William the Deliverer, replied that he would do his utmost to ruin his Irish 
subjects—“ He would do all that in him lay to discourage the woollen-manufactures 
of Ireland.”—And he was as good as his word. Acts of Parliament were very 
shortly after passed, whose effect was that Irish wool had to be sent to England raw 
to be manufactured in YorkshireAnd there it goes in fleece, and thence a very 
little of it returns in broadcloth up to this day. Add to this the Navigation Laws ; 
and the absolute prohibition of all direct Irish trade with the Colonies—no Colonial 


12 


I N T R O D 1J 0 T O K Y . 


concern of every nation, was accurately regulated in Ireland, with a view to 
British interests. One hundred years ago, Ireland imported much corn from 
England; because it then suited the purpose of the other island to promote Irish 
sheepfarming in order to provide wool for the Yorkshire weavers. Tillage and 
cattle-feeding were discouraged; therefore the Irish were forbidden to export 
black-cattle to England. Sheep then became the more profitable stock, and the 
port of Barnstable was opened to receive all their fleeces. But soon after, when 
England had full possession of the wollen-manufacture, and that of Ireland was 
utterly ruined, it became apparent to the prudent British, that the best use they 
could make of Ireland would be to turn it into a general store-farm for all sorts of 
Agricultural produce.* It is their store-farm to this day. 

Those restrictive laws no longer exist. They have been repealed from time to 
time, merely because England wanted them no longer. The work was done; the 
British were in possession. To revive manufactures in Ireland, there must have 
been protective duties imposed on import of manufactured articles from England ; 
but there was no free Irish Parliament to do this. Besides, the time became so 
enlightened that the Spirit of the Age was against such duties. In other words, 
the English could then afford to cry out “ free trade !” “ true principles of political 
economy !” and-so-forth ; taking care only to prevent any interference by law or 
otherwise, with the satisfactory state of things they had established. To lose a 
trade is easy; to recover it, in the face of wealthy rivals now in possession, 
impossible. 

When manufactures are crushed, and a peasantry bound to the plough-tail and 
the cattle-shed, of course the manufactured commodities they require must come 
to them from abroad, and their raw agricultural produce must go in payment for 
them. 

Farther, when the condition of the peasantry is embittered by subjection to an 
alien and hostile class of landlords, who hold by lineage and affection to another 
country, and whose sole interest in their tenantry is to draw from them the very 
uttermost farthing, that they may spend it in that other country ;t—and when that 
rental also, as well as the price of manufactures, must be paid in raw produce, the 
arrangement is as good as perfect. You can want no more to account for the 
starved skeletons of Ireland—and the comforts which brighten “ the happy homes 
of England.” 

So went by the eighteenth century in Ireland. One can hardly believe that 


produce being admitted into Ireland until it had first entered an English port and 
been unloaded there ; and you will be at no loss to find out how the English became 
so rich a nation and the Irish so poor. 

Of these laws the Bean of St. Patrick’s wrote—“ The conveniency of ports and 
havens which nature hath bestowed so liberally upon this kingdom, is of no more 
use to us than a beautiful prospect to a man shut up in a dungeon.” 

* Andeison, a standard Biitish writer of those days, in his 41 History of Com¬ 
merce,” explains the matter thus—“ Concerning these laws, many think them 
hurtful, and that it would be wiser to suffer the Irish to he employed in breeding 
and/attemng their hUiclc-cuttle for us, than to turn their lands into sheep walks 
as at piesent, in consequence ol which, in spite of all their laws, they supply 
foreign nations with their wool.” By a dexterous persistence in this line of policy 
the evil was remedied l’he Irish ceased to supply foreign nations or themselves 
either; and they now successfully fatten cattle and grow corn for the sister 
country. 

t In Swift’s days he set down the absentee-rents at half a million sterling They 
are now four and a half millions sterling. J 


I NTRODUOTOKY. 


13 


the sun shone as he is wont in those days.* * * § So dreary and miserable is the land¬ 
scape ;—a good Bishop Berkeley putting these dismal queries in 1784—“ Whether 
there be upon earth any Christian or civilized people so beggarly wretched and 

destitute as the common Irish.”-“ Whether, nevertheless, there is any other 

people whose wants may be more easily supplied from home.”* Or writing thus 
to his friend Prior in Dublin—“The distresses of the sick and poor are endless. 
The havoc of mankind in the counties of Cork, Limerick and some adjacent places, 
have been incredible. The nation, probably, will not recover this loss in a century. 
The other day I heard one from the County of Limerick say that whole villages 
were entirely dispeopled. About two months since, I heard Sir Richard Cox say 
that five hundred were dead in the parish, though in a county, I believe not very 
populous —a bitter Dean Swift, with accustomed ferocity of sarcasm, while the 
Sima indig natio gnawed his heart,t making and publishing his “ Modest Propo¬ 
sal” to relieve the fearful distress by cooking and eating the children of the poor4 

Yet, before the end of that same century—such vitality is there in the Irish race, 
and the Irish cause—Dublin streets beheld a wonderful spectacle—the Volunteer 
Army in its brilliant battalions, and an Independent Parliament legislating for the 
Sovereign Kingdom of Ireland ! Apparently the conquest of Ireland had not yet 
been entirely finished. 

For eighteen years, it seemed as if the steady progress of the British system in 
Ireland was about to be stopped or even turned back. The instinct and zeal of 
British “ Amelioration,” indeed, was as strong as ever, but S0,000 volunteer bayo¬ 
nets stopped the way. British statesmen were as desirous as ever to regulate in 
their minutest detail all the trade and traffic of her sister island—surely for her 
sister’s good—but on the muzzles of the D’ish artillery was engraved the legend 
“ Free Trade or Else §”- 

During those eighteen years of Irish Independence then, British policy was 
suspended. Honest John Bull all those years was losing a yearly income which 
he felt to be justly his due. Our countrymen began to manufacture again; and 
seditiously consumed their own corn and beef. Revenue expended in public 
improvements at home, to the prejudice of the British services;—the metropolis 
of Dublin beautified and enriched, to the heavy loss of industrious Londoners;— 

* Bishop Berkeley’s Works— The Querist. 

t See Swift’s Epitaph. 

% After a preface, the Dean’s “ Modest Proposal” proceeds—“ I shall now, there¬ 
fore, humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least 
objection. I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance, 
that a young healthy child well nursed, is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing 
and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked or boiled; and I make no 
doubt that it will equally serve in a fricasee or a ragout. I do, therefore, humbly 
offer it to public consideration that of the 120,000 children already computed, 
20,000 may be reserved for bread, whereof only one-fourth part to be unties. The 
remaining 100,000 may at a year old be offered in sale to the persons of quality and 

fortune throughout the kingdom,” &c.-Again, “ I have reckoned, upon a medium, 

that a child just born will weigh 12 lbs., and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, will 
increase to 28 lbs. I grant this food will be somewhat dear, and therefore very 
proper for landlords, who, as they have already devoured most of the parents, 
seem to have the best title to the children.” 

§ By “ Free Trade,” Irish statesmen meant freedom not from duties but 
from foreign influence—meant the full power of their own Parliament to 
regulate their own trade by such duties, on export or on import, protective, 
discriminating, or prohibitory, as the interests of Ireland (not England) might 
require. 





14 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Irish landlords keeping their town-houses in Ireland and spending their rents at 
home, instead of paying rent and wages in England ! The thing was not to be 
borne:—and through “ intolerance of Irish prosperity,” preparations were made 
to conquer Ireland again by the Act of Union. 

First, the Volunteers were io be disbanded and disarmed. Without that, no 
progress in civilization could be made; nor could the British Providence carry out 
his wise designs. The disbanding was accomplished by pretending to grant fully 
(for the time) all that Ireland demanded. The too credulous people were taught 
that it would look suspicious if they kept up 6uch an armament; and in an evil 
hour the Volunteers once more committed the defence of their island to her sister 
country. 

Next, to frighten the gentry of Ireland into an Union, an insurrection had to be 
provoked. The expedients by which this was effected are known well enough; 
but the rebellion of ’9S, when it did burst out, had nearly proved too strong for its 
fomenters: and it needed General Lake with twenty thousand disciplined men, 
and complete batteries of field-artillery, to suppress it in the county of Wexford 
alone. 

The noble owners of nomination boroughs were bribed, at £15,000 per borough, 
to sell them to the English government. 

The Catholic Bishops were bribed, by promises of emancipation (which the 
English delayed to fulfil for thirty years), to deliver over their flocks into the hands 
of the British. 

The country was In abject terror ; the Press was crushed by prosecutions; public 
meetings were dispersed by dragoons. The Irish Parliament was crowded (through 
the prudent bargaining of the noble owners of nomination boroughs) with English 
officers:—in short, the year 1800 saw the Act of Union. At one blow, England 
had her revenge. Ireland, and all Irish produce and industry, were placed totally 
in her power ; and Ireland having but one member to six in what they called the 
Imperial Parliament, security was taken that the arrangement should never be 
disturbed. 

This time, once more, Ireland was fully conquered—never nation yet took so 
much conquering, and remained unsubdued. For twenty years after the Union the 
country was as absolutely prostrated in means and in spirit as she seems to be now ; 
and as a matter of course she had her cruel famine every year. Without a famine 
in Ireland, England could not live as she had a right to expect; and the exact 
complement of a comfortable family dinner in England, is a coroner’s inquest in 
Ireland : verdict, starvation. In 1817 the famine was more desperate than usual, 
and in the best counties of Ireland, people fed on weeds. In 1S22 it was more 
horrible still. Sir John Newport of Waterford, in his place in the House of Com- 
mons,* described one parish in which fifteen persons had already died of hunger • 
twenty-eight more were past all hope of recovery, and one hundred and twenty 
(still in the same parish) ill of famine-fever:—and told of another parish where 
the priest had gone round and administered extreme unction to every man, woman 
and child of his parishioners, all in articulo mortis by mere starvation.! 


* Commons Debates, June 27,1S22. 

t Cobbettin his comment on that debate, makes these reflections— “ Won ev if 
seems, is wanted in Ireland. Now people do not eat money. No, but the mon’ev 
whl buy them something to cat. What! the food is there, then. PrayoEve 
this, leader. Pray observe this, and lot the parties get out of the concernif they 


INTRODUCTORY. 


15 


All those years, the agricultural produce of Ireland was increasing more and 
more, and the English were devouring it. Indeed, so rapidly did this food-export 
(the only Irish commerce) grow and swell, that in 1S‘26, to conceal the amount of 
it, the English Parliament placed it “ on the footing of a coasting-trade”—that is to 
say, no accounts were to be kept of it.* 

During the same period, every Parliament was sure to enact at least one Arms 
Bill; intended to deprive all mere Celts of necessary weapons for defence, and to 
kill in them the spirit of men. 

Two distinct movements were all this while stirring the people: one open and 
noisy—the Catholic Relief Agifcttion; the other secret and silent—the Ribbon, and 
White-boy movement. The first proposed to itself the admission of professional 
and genteel Catholics to Parliament and to the honors of the professions, all under 
London Law—the other, originating in an utter horror and defiance of London 
Law, contemplated nothing less than social, ultimately political, revolution. For 
fear of the last, Great Britain with a very ill grace yielded to the first. Unfor¬ 
tunately for Ireland, Catholic Emancipation was carried in 1829. “ Respectable 
Catholics ” were contented, and became West Britons from that day. 

At the head of that open and legal agitation, was a man of giant proportions in 
body and in mind ; with no profound learning, indeed, even in his own profession of 
the law, but with a vast and varied knowledge of human nature, in all its strength, 
and especially in all its weakness; with a voice like thunder and earthquake, yet 
musical and soft at will, as the song of birds; with a genius and fancy, tempestu¬ 
ous, playful, cloudy, fiery, mournful, merry, lofty and mean by turns, as the mood 
was on him—a humor broad, bacchant, riant, genial and jovial,—with profound 
and spontaneous natural feeling, and superhuman and subterhuman passions, yet 
withal, a boundless fund of masterly affectation and consummate histrtonism,— 
hating and loving heartily, outrageous in his merriment, and passionate in his 
lamentation, he had the power to make other men hate or love, laugh or weep, at 
his good pleasure;—insomuch that Daniel O’Connell, by virtue of being more 
intensely Irish, carrying to a more extravagant pitch all Irish strength and passion 
and weakness, than other Irishmen, led and swayed his people by a kind of divine, 
or else diabolic right. 

He led them, as I believe, all wrong for forty years. lie was a lawyer; and 
never could come to the point of denying and defying all British Law. He was a 
Catholic, sincere and devout; and would not see that the Church had ever been 
the enemy of Irish Freedom. He was an aristocrat, by position and by taste ; and 
the name of a Republic was odious to him. Moreover, his success as a Catholic 
Agitator ruined both him and his country. By mere agitation , by harmless exhi¬ 
bition of numerical force, by imposing dcmonstx-ations (which are fatal nonsense), 

can. The Food is theiie ; but those that have it in their possession will not give 
it without the money. And we know that the food is there ; for since this famine 
has been declared in Parliament, thousands of quarters of corn have been imported 
every week from Ireland to England.”— Register , July , 1822. 

* In the first of these two dreadful famine years, 1S17, there was exported from 
Ireland to England, 695,600 quarters of grain alone, besides vast herds of cattle. 
In 1S22 there was exported to England, 1,063,000 quarters of grain, besides cattle. 
It must be remembered that the pHce of this wealth did not come to Ireland, but 
stayed in England to pay the rent, &c.—which was one of the reasons of that phe¬ 
nomenon noticed by Cobbett—plenty of food: and those who raised it having no 
money to buy it. 


] 6 


INTEODUOTOEY. 


and by eternally half-unsheatliing a visionary sword, which friends and foes alike 
knew to be a phantom,—he had, as he believed, coerced the British Government to 
pass a Relief Bill, and admit Catholics to Parliament and some offices. 

It is true that Sir Robert Peel and the Duke of Wellington said they brought in 
this measure, to avert civil war; but no British statesman ever officially tells the 
truth, or assigns to any act its real motive. Their real motive was, to buy into 
the British interests, the landed and educated Catholics; that so the great multi¬ 
tudinous Celtic enemy might be left more absolutely at their mercy. 

For, beginning on the very day of Catholic Emancipation, there was a more 
systematic and determined plan of havoc upon the homes of the poor. First, the 
“forty-shilling freehold” was abolished. This low franchise for counties had 
induced landlords to subdivide farms, and to rear up population for the hustings. 
The franchise at an end, there was no political use for the people; and all encou¬ 
ragements and facilities were furnished by the British Government to get rid of 
them. Then began the “ amelioration ” (for benevolence guided all) of clearing off 
“ surplus population,” and consolidating the farms. It needed too much of the 
produce of the island to feed such a mob of Cells ; and improved systems of tillage 
would give more corn and cattle to English markets, more money to Irish landlords. 

The code of cheap and easy Ejectment was improved and extended. All these 
statutes were unknown to the common law of England, and have been invented 
for the sole sake of the Irish Celt. 

By an Act of the 25th year of George the Third (1S15), in all cases of holdings 
where the rent was under £20 a year—that is, in the whole class of small tillage 
farms—power had been given to the County Judge at sessions, to make a decree 
for Ejectment at the cost of a few shillings. Two years afterwards, another act 
was passed, which stated that in the proceedings under the former statute, “ doubts 
had arisen” as to the admissibility, in certain cases, of the affidavit of the landlord 
or lessor, or his agent, for ascertaining the amount due,” and then proceeded to 
enact that such affidavits should be held sufficient. Under these two acts, many 
an estate was cleared, many a farmer uprooted from his foothold on the soil, and 
swept out upon the highways: but yet not fast enough ; so that by another Act of 
the first year of King George IV, it was declared that the provisions of the cheap 
Ejectment Act '■'•had been found highly beneficial, and it was expedient that the 
same should be extended:” and, thereupon, it was enacted by the King’s most 
Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice, and-so-forth, that the power of sum¬ 
mary Ejectment at Quarter Sessions should apply to all holdings at less than £50 
rent; and, by the same statute, the cost of procuring these Ejectments was still 
farther reduced. In the reigns of George IV. and Victoria, other acts for the sarno 
pjipose weie made. So that when the famine and the Poor-laws came, the expense 
of clearing a whole country side, was very trifling indeed. 

To receive some of the exterminated, Poor-houses were erected all over the island, 
which had the effect of stilling compunction in the ejectors. The Poor-houses 
were soon filled. 

Yet all these years, from 1S29 to 1846, with all the thinning and clearing, Celt 3 
kept increasing and multiplying. The more they multiplied, the more they 
stai ved; for the export of their food to England was also increasing yearly; then, 
with the greater demand for farms, rents rose and wages fell; and when at last 
the fast shadow of the famine fell upon the island, nine-tenths of the people were 
living on the meanest and cheapest food, and upon a mini/mv/n of that. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


17 


But all these same years, loud and triumphant Agitations were going forward— 
the “Precursor” Agitation; the Repeal Agitationand the cheers of imposing 
demonstrations rent the air. Our poor people were continually assured that they 
were the finest peasantry in the world—“ A. One among the nations.” They were 
told that their grass was greener, their women fairer, their mountains higher, their 
valleys lower, than those of other lands;—that their “moral force” (alas!) had 
conquered before, and would again;—that next year would be the Repeal year: 
in fine, that Ireland would be the first flower of the earth and first gem of 
the sea. 

Not that the Irish are a stupid race, or naturally absurd; but the magician 
bewitched them to their destruction. 

All these years too, a kind of political war of posts was waged between O’Connell 
and British ministers. Things called “ good measures ” were obtained; especially 
good men, friends and dependents of O’Connell’s (for he was generous as the day) 
got offices. “ Ameliorations ” were now and then proposed—and if they were hum¬ 
bugs too manifest, O’Connell in his Hall, turned them inside out amidst laughter 
inextinguishable; and said nabochlish ! and “Thank you for nothing, says the 
gallipot.” Collateral issues all. Under all this, the heart and soul of Ireland— 
whatever of intellect and manliness was left in Ireland, beat and burned for 
Independence;—and England was skilfully laying her plans for the final conquest 
of her enemy. 

For not one instant did the warfare cease upon farming Celts. In 1S43, “ Gov¬ 
ernment ” issued a notable commission ; that is, appointed a few landlords, uith 
Lord Devon at their head, to go through Ireland, collect evidence, and report on 
the best means (not of destroying the Irish enemy—official documents do not now 
use so harsh language, but) of ameliorating the lelations ol landloid and tenant in 
Ueland. On this commission, O’Connell observed that it was “ a jury of butchers 
trying a sheep for his life,” and said many other good things both merry and bitter, 
as was his wont; but the Devon Commission travelled and reported; and its 
Report has been the Gospel of Irish landlords and British Statesmen ever since. 

Three sentences of their performance will show the drift of it. Speaking of 
“ Tenant Right » (a kind of unwritten law whereby tenants in the north were 
secure from ejectment from their farms while they paid their rent, a custom many 
ages old, and analogous to the customs of farmers all over Europe), these Commis¬ 
sioners reported “ that they foresaw some dangers to the just rights of property 
from the unlimited allowance of this tenant-right.” On the propriety of consoli¬ 
dating farms (that is, destroying many small farmers to set up one laige one), the 
Commissioners say, “ When it is seen in the evidence, and in the 1 etui n of the 
size of farms, how minute these holdings are, it cannot be denied that such a step 
is absolutely necessary .” 

But the most remarkable sentence occurs in Lord Devon’s “ Digest of the Evi¬ 
dence,” page 399: 

“We find that there are at present 826,0S4 occupiers of land (more than one- 
third of the total number returned in Ireland), whose holdings vary from seven 
acres to less than one acre ; and are, therefore, inadequate to support the families 
residing upon them. In the same table, No. 9p, page 564, the calculation is put 
forward, showing that the consolidation of these small holdings up to eight acies, 
would require the removal of about 192,36S families.' 

That is, the killing of a million of persons. Little did the Commissioners hope 



18 


INTRODUCTORY. 


then, that in four years, British policy, with the famine to aid, would succeed in 
killing fully two millions, and forcing nearly another million to flee the country. 

In 1S46 came the famine, and the “ Relief Acts ” advancing money from the 
Treasury, to be repaid by local assessment; and of course there was an aggravated 
and intolerable Poor-rate to meet this claim. Of which Relief Acts, only one fact 
needs to be recorded here—that the Public Works done under them were strictly 
ordered to be of an unproductive sort—that is, such as would create no fund to 
repay their own expenses. Accordingly, many hundreds of thousands of feeble 
and starving men were kept digging holes, and breaking up roads—doing not only 
no service, but much harm. Well, then, to meet these Parliamentary advances 
there was nothing but rates: and, therefore , there was the higher premium to 
landlords on the extermination, that is the slaughter, of their tenantry. 1the 
clearing business had been active before, now there was a rage and passion for it; 
and as if the Cheap Ejectment Acts were not a speedy enough machinery, riere 
was a new Poor-law enacted, containing amongst other clauses, the “Quarter 
Acre clause,” which provided that if a farmer, having sold all his produce tc pay 
the rent, duties, rates and taxes, should be reduced, as many thousands of them 
were, to apply for public out-door relief, he should not get it until he had first 
delivered up all his land to the landlord. Under that law it is the able-bodied 
idler only who is to be fed—if he attempt to till but one rood of ground, he dies. • 
This simple method of ejectment was called “passing paupers through the work- 
house a man went in, a pauper came out. 

Under these various Poor-laws and Relief Acts, there were at least 10,000 
government offices, small and great; looking and canvassing for these were 
100,000 men : a great army in the interest of England. 


At the end of six years, I can set down these things calmly; but to see them 
might have driven a wise man mad. There is no need to recount how the Assist¬ 
ant Barristers and Sheriffs, aided by the Police, tore down the roof-trees and 
ploughed up the hearths of village after village—how the Quarter Acre clause laid 
waste the parishes, how the farmers and their wives and little ones in wild dismay, 
trooped along the highways;—how in some hamlets by the seaside, most of the 
inhabitants being already dead, an adventurous traveller would come upon some 
family eating a famished ass;—how maniac mothers stowed away their dead 
children to be devoured at midnight ;-how Mr. Darcy, of Clifden, describes a 
humane gentleman going to a village near that place with some crackers, and 
standing at the door of a house ; “ and when he threw the crackers to the children 
(for he was afraid to enter), the mother attempted to take them from themhow- 
husband and wife fought like wolves for the last morsel of food in the house -—how 
families, when all was eaten and no hope left, took their last look at the Sun, built 
up their cottage-doors, that none might see them die nor hear their groans and 
were found weeks afterwards, skeletons on their own hearth; bow the “ law” was 
vindicated all this while; how the Arms-bills were diligently put in force 
and many examples were made; how starving wretches were transported for 
stealing vegetables by night;* how overworked coroners declared they would hold 
no more inquests; how Americans sent corn, and the very Turks, yea, negro 


Sessions. Timothy Leary and Mary Leary were indicted for that thev 
on the 14th January, at Oakmount, did feloniously steal twenty turn)ns and lift) 
Parsnips , the property of James Gillman. Pound guilty SentencrKsn^a 
tion for seven years. This is but one of numerous instances. * tiansporta- 


IN T R 0 D TJ 0 T O E Y. 


19 


slaves, sent money for alms; which the British government was not ashamed to 
administer to the “ sister-countryand how, in every one of these years, ’46, ’47, 
and ’4S, Ireland was exporting to England, food to the value of fifteen million 
pounds sterling, and had on her own soil at each harvest, good and ample provi¬ 
sion for double her own population, notwithstanding the potato blight.* 

To this condition had forty years of “moral and peaceful agitation ” brought 
Ireland. The high aspirations after a national Senate and a national flag had 
sunk to a mere craving for food. And for food Ireland craved in vain. She was 
to be taught that the Nation which parts with her nationhood, or suffers it to be 
wrested or swindled from her, thereby loses all. O’Connell died heart-broken in 
1S47—heart-broken not by a mean vexation at seeing the powers departing from 
him; the man was too great for that; but by the sight of his People sinking 
every day into death under their inevitable, inexorable doom. Ilis physicians 
ordered him to a warmer climate : in vain : amidst the reverend acclamations of 
Paris, through the sunny valleys of France, as he journeyed southward, that 
Banshee wail followed him and found him, and rung in his dying ear. At Genoa 
he died : ordering that the heart should be taken out of his dead body, and sent, 
not to Ireland, but to Home; a disposition which proves how miserably broken and 
debilitated was that once potent nature. 

Politics, by this time, was a chaos in Ireland. “ Concilation Hall ” was sending 
forth weekly an abject howl for food !food ! The “ Irish Confederation” (of which 
the present writer was a member) had no much clearer view through the gloom: 
though it had more energy and honesty. Two or three vain efforts were made by 


* Mr. Martin, of Longhorn, a competent and candid inquirer, in a published 
letter of October, 1S47, gives a variety of statistical tables, and draws the conclu¬ 
sion that the total produce of food in Ireland the year preceding, amounted to 
£41,000,000 sterling, and her export to England, £15,000,000; but his estimate is 
very much under the truth : for in the year 1846, according to Thom’s Almanac,there 
were 1,875,893 quarters of grain alone sent to England, besides countless cattle, 
bacon, butter and eggs. The trade in eggs had become so vast, that Richardson, 
in his Treatise on Domestic Fowl (Dublin, 1847), calculates that export at nearly 
a million sterling. But it may give a more vivid notion of the truth, if 1 copy here 
the casual notices of this export trade which I found in the newspapers of one 
week —a week of hideous famine in Ireland— 

In the Daily News of Oct. 3d, 1S47, it is stated that in the London market “the 
receipts of oats chiefly consist of the new Irish crop.” In the Examiner of Oct. 
4th, you may read that there was in one day an arrival in London of 11,050 quar¬ 
ters of Irish oats. By the Drogheda Argus we find that in one week, ending 3d 
Oct., there were shipped from Drogheda 1,200 cows, 3,500 sheep and swine, 2,(>00 
quarters of grain, 211 tons of meal and flour, 130 boxes of eggs, besides butter, 
lard, &c. Waterford, in the same week (Evening Dost, Oct. 3d), sent off 250 tons 
of flour, 1,100 sheep and pigs, 308 head of cattle, 5,400 barrels of wheat and oats, 
7,700 firkins of butter, 2,000 flitches of bacon. From Newry, within five days, in 
the end of September, there sailed eleven ships for England, laden with grain, 
exclusive of two large steamers, which sail Jour times a week, laden with cattle, 
eggs, butter, &c. 

But Drogheda, Waterford and Newry, are but three of eleven seaports (Derry, 
Coleraine, Belfast, Newry, Dundalk, Drogheda, Dublin, Wexford, Waterford, Cork, 
Limerick), from each of which, at least two large steamers (from some of them 
five steamers), went twice in each week to England, laden with corn and cattle. 
And this without counting the minor ports, and the hundreds of sailing vessels 
all laden with corn and cattle. 

In short, during the four “ famine years,” Ireland exported /our quarters of 
grain for every quarter she imported, besides cattle; and of the grain imported, 
the greater part had been exported before, and came back laden with two freights 
and speculators’ profits to the helpless consumers. 


20 


INTRODUOTO RY. 


its leaders to put a good man into the representation (Meagher at Waterford), or 
to keep a bad man out (Monaghan at Galway)—both efforts in vain. The repre¬ 
sentation and the franchise were too cunningly calculated for Britsh interests. 
Every week was deepening the desolation and despair throughout the country; 
until at last the French Revolution of February, ’4S, burst upon Europe. Ireland, 
it is true, did not then possess the physical resources or the high spirit which had 
“ threatened the integrity of the Empire ” in ’48; but even as she was, depopulated, 
starved, cowed and corrupted, it seemed better that she should attempt resistance, 
however heavy the odds against success, than lie prostrate and moaning as she 
was. Better that men should perish by the bayonets of the enemy than by their 
laws. No carnage could be so cruel as the famine. 

Clubs were formed; expressly for arming; rifles were eagerly purchased; and 
the blacksmiths’ forges poured forth pike-heads. Sedition, treason, were openly 
preached and enforced; and the United It'ishman was established specifically as 
an Organ of Revolution. The Viceroy, Lord Clarendon, became alarmed : he con¬ 
centrated eight thousand troops in Dublin; he covered the land with detectives; 
and informers were the chief frequenters of the Castle. Walls were covered with 
placards (printed by Thom, the government-printer), warning peaceable citizens 
that “ communists ” intended to rob their houses, and murder their families; detec¬ 
tives went to unsuspecting blacksmiths and mysteriously ordered pikes for the 
“ revolution”—then brought the pikes to the Castle; and thereupon Lord Clarendon 
had additional reasons to call for more regiments from England, to mount cannon 
upon the Bank; to garrison the College ; to parade his artillery through the streets. 
But this was not enough : his Lordship wanted an organ at the Press ; for it hap¬ 
pened that, about that time, all the decent journals of the country were pouring con¬ 
tempt upon him and his government, except the Dublin Evening Post, which was 
bribed with Public money. It was necessary to secure another organ. The cause 
of “ Law and Order ”—the interests of civilization—the wise designs of a British 
Providence required more support. There was then in Dublin a paper of the most 
infamous character ; a paper that subsisted upon hush-money (the only one of the 
sort ever printed in Ireland) ; a paper that was never quoted, whose name was 
never named by any Journal in the city. Its editor, an illiterate being of the 
name of Birch, had been prosecuted more than once, convicted at least once, and 
imprisoned six months, for procuring money from timid citizens by threats of pub¬ 
lishing disgusting stories of their private life. To this man my Lord Clarendon 
applied, that he might aid him with his counsel and with his pen. With him he 
consulted at the Viceregal Lodge upon the critical posture of affairs, and upon the 
best mode of carrying out the designs of Providence for Ireland. In order the 
more effectually to do this pious work, it was needful that the avowed enemies of 
that British Providence (of whom the present writer had the honor to be one) 
should be covered with obloquy, and pointed out to the execration of mankind as 
abominable; but seeing that reputable persons never saw the Viceroy’s new organ, 
it became necessary to circulate it gratuitously by means of public money.* 

* All this might have remained a secret, but that Lord Clarendon’s friend Birch 
was obliged, three years afterwards, to sue his Lordship, and again Sir William 
Somerville, the Irish Secretary, for the balance due to him on account of “ Law 
and Order.” The action against Lord Clarendon was compromised by payment 
of £”,000; that against Somerville was resisted and tried. Thus it came out how 
his Excellency had sent for Birch to his residenceand how Birch had been 


INTKODTJOTOEY. 


21 


Under the advice of this Birch, who told the Viceroy that it was time for vigor, 
his Lordship called for a new Law of Treason. Immediately (April 19th) a Bill was 
brought in by Sir George Grey, and made into an Act by large majorities, j>ro- 
viding that any one who should levy war against the Queen, or endeavor to 
deprive her of her title, or by open and advised speaking, printing or publishing, 
incite others to the same, should be “ deemed guilty of felony ” and trans¬ 
ported. 

This Act was. passed with a special view to crush the United Irishman, and to 
destroy its Editor. If the offence had been left a misdemeanor as theretofore, the 
“ government” knew that the United Irishman could not be put down, because 
there would have been no forfeiture in case of conviction ; and they were all well 
aware that competent men would not be wanting to give a voice to treason, even 
though editor after editor should be chained up. 

In the meantime the case grew pressing. All the country was fast becoming 
aroused; and many thousands of pikes were in the hands of the peasantry. The 
soldiers of several regiments, being Irish, were well known to be very willing to 


closeted with him often. Plaintiff’s counsel stated the nature of his services 
thus:— 

“ I may say this, that he gave his Excellency the full benefit of his counsel, of his 
knowledge, of his intimate acquaintance with parties, with newspapers, with fac¬ 
tions, and with public men. I am instructed that he even went the length of stating 
when the government might be vigorous, and when it would be prudent to be 
cautious.” 

Lord Clarendon, in his ow T n evidence, says it was in February, 1843, that he 
entered into communication with Birch :— 

“ I then offered him £100, if I remember rightly, for it did not make any great 
impression on me at the time. He said that it would not be sufficient for his pur¬ 
pose, and I think it was then extended to about £350. This was in the beginning 
of February, 1S4S, if I remember correctly. Did your Excellency know that any 
farther'sums of money were paid to Mr. Birch in London?—Yes. Is your Excel¬ 
lency aware from what fund it came ?—From a fund placed at the disposal of Sir 
William Somerville, at my request. Out of the public funds, was it?—1 could not 
say it came out of the public funds. I said it was a fund placed at the disposal of 
Sir W. Somerville, at my request.” 

Secret service money, in short. Lord Clarendon’s private secretary, a Mr. Con- 
ncllan, was usually the instructor of Birch. It is unfortunate that all the 
letters have not come to light; for on payment of the £2,000 to settle Birch’s claim, 
his Lordship took care, as he thought, to get up all the papers. Birch prudently 
kept back a few, amongst which, I find the following note : 

“ V. R. L. (Viceregal Lodge), March, 1S48. Dear Sir—The French news ought 
to turn to account the triumph of the moderate party, the defeat and certain ejec¬ 
tion of Ledru Rollin, the Irish fraterniser, and the vigorous proceedings of the pro¬ 
visional government in making arrests. I presume that to-morrow’s (Friday) mail 
will bring us an account of the capture of Blanqui and Cabet, the great Communist 
leader, &c. The moral of this might be well applied to Mitchel and Co.” 

For of course it was one main point in his Lordship’s policy to make people 
believe that the enemies of English government were u Communists,” and that 
Communists were robbers. Birch was recommended also by Lord Clarendon to 
Lord Palmerston ; and was duly paid by that nobleman for supporting his policy. 
Here are two little notes which were read on the Somerville trial: 

“ Sir—Viscount Palmerston desires me to express to you his best thanks for your 
obliging letter of the 9th inst., and your able articles in the World newspaper. 
I am, Sir, your obedient servant, Spkncer Ponsonby.” 

June 15, 1851, Mr. Ponsonby says—“ Viscount Palmerston desires to acknow¬ 
ledge tile receipt of your letter of to-day’s date, and to request you to call upon mo 
at this office on Monday or Tuesday, at a quarter before 5 o’clock.” 

Such was one of the agencies made use of by Divine Providence for preserving 
British civilization in Ireland. I never saw L<jrd Clarendon’s friend Birch; but 
am informed that he earned much of his money by weekly attacks upon me. 


22 


INTRODUCTORY. 


fraternize with the people, upon a first success ; and the police, in such an event, 
would have been a green-coated Irish army upon the moment. 

Birch and Clarendon would not even wait to get their enemies fairly into the 
new felony. They caused three to be arrested in the meantime (O’Brien, Meagher, 
and the present writer), on a charge of sedition ; but on bringing the two former 
to trial, it was found that the juries (special juries in the Court of Queen’s Bench) 
had not been closely enough packed ; and the prosecutions failed. In my case, 
though there were two indictments, one for a speech, and one for an article, and 
two juries had actually been struck; “ Government” felt that a failure would be at 
least dangerous; so the Viceroy suddenly caused my arrest on a charge of 
“ treason-felony ” under his new Act, and determined to, not try but, pretend to 
try me, at the next Commission in Green Street;—at any rate to clear Ireland of 
me ; and so get rid of one obstacle at lea,st to the fulfilment of British policy. 

Here, then, this narrative leaves the general affairs of the country and shrinks 
to the dimensions of a single prosecution. From the day that I entered my dun¬ 
geon (the 23d of May, 1S48), I know but by hearsay how the British government 
fulfilled the designs and administered the dispensations of Providence in Ireland,— 
how the famine was successfully exploited; how the poor-rates doubled and 
trebled, and were diligently laid out in useless works; how (he Orange Lodges were 
supplied with arms from the Castle ; how the mere Celtic peasantry were carefully 
deprived of all weapons ; how the landlords were gradually broken and impover¬ 
ished by the pressure of rates, until the beneficent “ Encumbered Estates Bill ” had 
to come in and solve their difficulties;—a great sti-oke of British policy, whereby 
it was hoped (now that the tenantry were cleared to the proper point) to clear out 
the landlords too, and replace them with English and Scottish purchasers. In 
short, how the last conquest was consummated, let other pens than mine describe. 

The United Irishman was at that time admitted to be making great progress in 
stimulating the just disaffection of the people to the point of insurrection. The first 
an l most earnest efforts, therefore, of the enemy’s government were now to be 
exerted for its destruction. And now came the momentous question of the jury. 
The Ministry of England happened to be a Whig Ministry; and one of the artifices 
by which the Whigs had gained their reputation for “ liberality ” was hypocritically 
censuring the Tories for packing juries—that is, carefully selecting their own 
friends apparently to try, but really to destroy a political enemy. I provoked 
them to this prosecution with the idea that if they did not pack, and were beaten 
on the trial (in a case of so open and flagrant “ treason ”), the prestige and the 
real power of the British rule in Ireland would be wounded seriously, perhaps 
mortally—but that if they broke through all Whig maxims, and obtained their 
conviction by the usual villainous means of excluding five-sixths of the people from 
serving on juries, the atrocity would still more exasperate the furious disaffection, 
and ripen the Revolution. In all this I under-estimated, on the one hand, tho 
vigor and zeal of the British government, in carrying out the designs of Provi¬ 
dence, and on the other, the much-enduring patience and perseverance of tho 
Irish Catholics. 

The day of trial approached ; and it became well known in Dublin, that Lord 
Clarendon was resolved, Whig or no Whig, to pack at least this one jury most 
jealously. The juries to try O’Brien and Meagher had been selected, indeed, with 
considerable care; yet on each of those juries there had been left at least ono 
friend of the national cause—a piece of official negligence which ended in tho 


INTRODUCTORY. 


23 


defeat of those prosecutions; and it was, therefore, clear that it must not be 
repeated. Just before my pretended “ trial,” however, Ministers were taken to 
task about the instructions which had been sent to Ireland for the conduct of the 
State prosecutions; and returns were moved for. Lord John Ilussell replied, in a 
most virtuous speech, that nothing could be farther from the intention of the 
government than excluding Catholics as such, from the jury-box, using “unfair¬ 
ness,” or turning the administration of justice into a matter of politics.* The 
report of that virtuous speech arrived in Dublin on the very day when the Crown 
prosecutors and Attorney General were packing the jury, to convict me, as never 
jury was packed before—excluding all Catholics, as such—excluding all Protestants 
who were not known to be my enemies—openly “ using unfairness,” and using the 
false pretence of law and justice to crush a political enemy. There was not, of 
course, a single Catholic left upon this pretended jury; nor a single Protestant 
who was not well known to be for the Castle, and against the People. 

Two or three days after my pretended trial—as I find in the papers—the same 
Lord John Russell, being questioned again by Mr. Keogh on the exclusion of 
Catholics on all the three trials, declared that in the case of Mr. O’Brien and Mr. 
Meagher, jurors had not been 6et aside for political or religious opinions; but, 
said his Lordship, “ I have no explanation to offer with respect to what has taken 
place on the trial of Mr. Mitchel.” 

In short, the cause of “ civilization ” and of British Law and Order, required that 
I should be removed to a great distance from Ireland, and that my office and 
printing materials should become the property of her Majesty. Though the noble 
old Robert Holmes, who advocated the prisoner’s cause that day, had had the 
tongue of men and of angels, he could have made no impression there. A verdict 
of “ Guilty,” and a sentence of fourteen years’ transportation had been ordered by 
the Castle; and it was done. 

The Clubs of Dublin, as I was credibly informed, were vehemently excited; and 
the great majority of them were of opinion, that if an insurrection were to be made 
at all, it should be tried then and there—that is, in Dublin streets, and on the day 
of my removal. There is no reason why I should not avow that I shared in that 
opinion, and refused to sign a paper that was brought to me in Newgate, depre¬ 
cating all attempt at rescue. I believed that if the City of Dublin permitted any 
Irishman to be put on board a convict-ship under such circumstances, the British 


* This is Lord John Russell’s virtuous speech—it was on the 23d of May : 

“ I certainly did not expect that there would arise any charge against us of 
partiality on the ground of exclusion of Roman Catholics. I entertain exactly the 
same opinions I held in 1S44, that the exclusion of Roman Catholics, as such, unless 
they were members of the Repeal Association, or were distinguished by the vio¬ 
lence of their conduct in those associations—the exclusion of Roman Catholics, as 
such, is an extremely wrong and unjustifiable proceeding. I therefore did not 
expect that a charge of this nature would be made; but, however, notwithstanding 
that, I did write when I first received from my noble friend, the Lord Lieutenant, 
an intimation that it was the determination of the government to prosecute those 
several persons for sedition—I wrote to him immediately, to say that I trusted 
there would not arise any charge of any kind of unfairness as to the composition 
of the juries; as for my own part, I would rather see those parties acquitted, than that 
there should be any such unfairness. (Cheers.) 1 repeat, that whatever example 
there may be given by others, of disregarding the obligations of right, and making 
the part they have to perform in the administration of justice a matter of politics, 
and not of duty, the’government will be the last persons to allow any example of 
that kind to operate upon them.” 


24 


INTRODUCTORY 


Government could have little to fear from their resentment or their patriotism 
afterwards. Others of my confederate comrades differed from me ; restrained the 
Clubs; promised action in the harvest (a promise which they afterwards fulfilled to 
the best of their ability) ; bade me farewell mournfully enough ; and in due course 
of time, some of them followed me on my circumnavigation of the globe. 

Their decision was wrong ; and, as I firmly believe, fatal. But that their motives 
were pure, and their courage unquestionable, I am bound to admit. 

So much I have thought fit to narrate by way of Introduction to the diary which 
I kept in my cell. The general history of a nation may fitly preface the personal 
memoranda of a solitary captive; for it was strictly and logically a consequence 
of the dreary story here epitomized, that I came to be a prisoner, and to sit writing 
and musing so many months in a lonely cell. “ The history of Ireland,” said 
Meagher to his unjust judges at Clonmel, “ explains my crime and justifies it.” No 
man proudly mounts the scaffold, or coolly faces a felon’s death, or walks with his 
head high and defiance on his tongue into the cell of a convict-hulk, for nothing. 
No man, let him be as young ” and as “ vain ” as you will, can do this in tho 
wantonness of youth or the intoxication of vanity. 

-My preface, then will explain, at least to some readers, what was that motive, 
spirit and passion which impelled a few Irishmen to brave such risks, and incur 
so dreadful penalties for the sake of but one chance of rousing their oppressed and 
degraded countrymen to an effort of manful resistance against their cruel and 
cunning enemy. 

It will farther help to explain the contumacy and inveterately rebellious spirit 
evident enough in the pages of the “Journal;” and, moreover, will suggest some 
of those considerations which lead the present writer to differ from the vast 
majority of mankind, and to assert that his native country has not been, even 
this time, finally subdued; that this earth was not created, to be civilized, 
ameliorated and devoured by the Anglo-Saxons ; that Defeat is not necessarily 
Wrong; that the British Providence is not Divine ; and that his dispensations are 
not to be submitted to as the inscrutable decrees of God. 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER I. 

Newgate—Travelling Toilet—Drive to the North Wall—“ No Disturbance ’’—Hospi¬ 
talities of the Shearwater—Capt. Hall of the “Dragon”—Not Basil Hall—Self- 
Interrogation—My fellow-Felons—Spike Island—Edward Walsh—Order for 
removal to Bermuda—The “ Scourge ” War Steamer—At Sea. 

May 27, 1848.—On tills day, about four o’clock in the afternoon, 
I, John Mitchel, was kidnapped, and carried off from Dublin, in 
chains, as a convicted “Felon.” 

I had been in Newgate prison for a fortnight:—an apparent trial 
had been enacted before twelve of the castle jurors in ordinary— 
much legal palaver, and a “ conviction ” (as if there were late, order, 
government, or justice in Ireland). Sentence had been pronounced, 
with much gravity, by that ancient purple Brunswickcr, Baron 
Lefroy— -fourteen years' 1 transjjortation: and I had returned to my 
cell and taken leave of my wife and two poor boys. A few minutes 
after they had left me, a gaoler came in with a suit of coarse, grey 
clothes in his hand—“You are to put on these,” said he, “ directly.” 
I put them on directly. A voice then shouted from the foot of the 
stairs, “ Let him be removed in his own clothes :” so I was ordered to 
change again, which I did. Asked to. what place 1 was to be 
removed. “Can’t tell,” said the man—“make haste.” There was a 
travelling bag of mine in the cell, containing a change of clothes; 
and I asked whether I might take it with me. “ No—make haste.” 
“ I am ready then —and I followed him down the stairs. 

When wo came into the small paved court, some constables and 

2 




26 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


gaolers were standing there: one of them had in his hand a pair of 
iron fetters, and they all appeared in a hurry, as if they had some 
very critical neck-or-nothing business in hand—but they might as 
well have taken their time and done the business with their usual 
unconcerned and sullen dignity of demeanor. 

I was ordered to put my foot upon a stone seat that was by the 
wall; and a constable fastened one of the bolts upon my ankle ; but 
the other people hurried him so much, that he said quickly, “ Here, 
take the other in your hand and come along.’ 7 I took it, and held up 
the chain which connected the two, to keep it from dragging along 
the pavement, as I followed through the hall of the prison (where a 
good many persons had gathered to see the vindication of the “ law ”) 
and so on to the outer door. I stood on the steps for one moment, 
and gazed round—The black police-omnibus—a strong force of the 
city constabulary occupying the street on either side—outside of them, 
dark crowds of people standing in perfect silence—parties of cavalry 
drawn up at the openings of the streets hard by. I walked down the 
steps; and amidst all that multitude the clanking of my chain was 
the loudest sound. The moment I stepped into the carriage, the door 
was dashed to with a bang : some one shouted “ To the North Wall!” 
and instantly the horses set forward at a gallop : the dragoons, with 
drawn sabres, closed both in front and rear and on both sides, and in 
this style we dashed along, but not by the shortest, or the usual way 
to the North Wall, as I could see through a slit in the panel. The 
carriage was full of police-constables: two of them, in plain clothes, 
seemed to have special charge of me, as they sat close by me, on 
right and left, one of them holding a pistol with a cap on the nipple. 
After a long and furious drive along the north Circular road, I could 
perceive that we were coming near the river. The machine suddenly 
stopped, and I was ushered to the quay-wall between two ranks of 
carbineers, with naked swords. A government-steamer, the “ Shear¬ 
water,” lay in the river with steam up, and a large man-of-war’s boat, 
filled with men armed to the teeth, was alongside the wall. I 
descended the ladder with some difficulty, owing to the chain, took 
my seat beside a naval officer who sat in the stern; and a dozen 
pulls brought us to the steamer’s side. A good many people who 
stood on the quay and in two or three vessels close by, looked on in 
silence. One man bade God bless me ; a police-inspector roared out 
to him that he had better make no disturbance. 

As soon as we came on board, the naval officer, who had brought 


hospitalities of tiie sheaewatee. 27 

me off, a short, dark man of five-and-forty or thercahouts, conducted 
me to the cabin, ordered my fetters to be removed, called for sherry 
and water to be placed before us, and began to talk. He told me I 
was to be brought to Spike Island, a convict prison in Cork harbor, 
in the first place—that he himself, however, was only going as far as 
Kingstown, where his own ship lay—that he was Capt. Hall of the 
“ Dragon” steam-frigate, and that ho dared to say I had heard of 
the unfortunate “Nemesis”—“Then” quoth I, “you are the Capt. 
Hall who was in China lately and wrote a book.” He said he was, 
and seemed quite pleased :—if he had a copy of his work there, he 
said he should be most happy to present it to me. Then he appeared 
apprehensive that I might confound him with Capt. Basil Hall. So 
he told me that he was not Basil Hall, who in fact was dead— 
but that though not actually Basil Hall, he had sailed with Basil 
Hall as a youngster, on board the “Lyra.” “I presume,” he said, 

“ you have read his voyage to the Loo Choo Islands.” I said I had, 
and also another book of his which I liked far better—his account of 
the Chilian and Peruvian revolutions, and of that splendid fellow, 
San Martin.” Capt. Hall laughed. “ Your mind,” said he, “has 
been running upon revolutions.” “Yes very much, almost exclusive¬ 
ly.” “Ah! sir,” quoth he, “ dangerous things, these revolutions.” 
Whereto I replied, “ you may say that.” We were now near Kings¬ 
town pier, and my friend, looking at his watch, said he should still he 
in time for dinner—that he was to dine with the Lord Lieutenant-^^ 
that he had been at a review in the Park this morning, and was sud¬ 
denly ordered off to escort me with a boat’s crew from the Dragon — 
further, that he was sorry to have to perform such a service ; and 
that he had been credibly informed my father was a very good man. 

I answered I know not what. He invited me to go with him upon 
deck, where his crew were preparing to man the boat: they were all 
dressed like seamen, but well armed. I pointed to them, and asked, 

“ Are those fellow-marines ?” He looked at me with peculiar smile,— 
well, come now, they are marines :” he was evidently amazed at my 
penetration in detecting marines without their uniform (I had asked 
the questions in mere ignorance and absence of mind), “ but,” he quick¬ 
ly added, “ our marines are all seamen.” “ I suppose so,” quoth I. 

Captain Hall, of the Dragon, now bade me good evening, saying 
he should just have time to dress for dinner. I wished him a good 
appetite, and he went off to his ship. No doubt he thought me an 
amazingly cool character ; but God knoweth the heart. There was 


28 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


a huge lump in my throat all the time of this balcl chat, and my 
thoughts were far enough away from both Peru and Loo Choo. At 
Charlemont Bridge, in Dublin, this evening there is a desolate house 
—my mother and sisters, who came up to town to see me (for the last 
time in case of the worst)—five little children, very dear to me, none 
of them old enough to understand the cruel blow that has fallen on 
them this day, and above all—above all—my wife. 

What will they do ? What is to become of them ? By this time, 
undoubtedly, my office, my newspaper, types, books, all that I had, 
are seized on by the government burglars. And then they will have 
to accept that public “ tribute”—the thought of which I abhor. And 
did I not know all this? And, knowing it, did I not run all the risk? 
Yes, and I did well; the possible sacrifice indeed was terrible, but 
the enterprise was great, and was needful. And, moreover, that 
sacrifice shall not have been made in vain. And I know that my 
wife and little ones shall not want. He that feedeth the young 
ravens—but then, indeed, as I remember, young ravens and other 
carrion-birds have been better fed in Ireland than the Christians, 
these latter years. 

After all, for what has this sacrifice been made? Why was it 
needful ? What did I hope to gain by this struggle with the enemy’s 
“ government,” if successful ? What, if unsuccessful ? What have I 
gained ? Questions truly which it behoves me to ask and answer on 
this evening of my last day (it may be) of civil existence. Dublin 
city, with its bay and pleasant villas—city of bellowing slaves—villas 
of genteel dastards—lies now behind us, and the sun has set behind 
the blue peaks of Wicklow, as we steam past Brayhead, where the 
vale of Shanganagh, sloping softly from the Golden Spears, sends its 
bright river murmuring to the sea. And I am on the first stage of 
my way, faring to what regions of unknown horror ? And may never, 
never, more, oh, Ireland ! my mother and queen! see vale, or hill, or 
murmuring stream of thine. And why ? What is gained ? 

Let me set it down :— 

I'irst, then, I have compelled the enlightened “government,” the 
Yhig government—after repeated warnings, challenges, taunts (so 
that everybody should know what I was about), compelled them pub¬ 
licly and notoriously to pack a jury, most strictly, in order to crush one 
mm and thus compelled them to prove that there is no “consti¬ 
tution’' in Ireland at all—that the “government” is not under, 
but above Law—that trial by jury is a fraud—and that all Whig pro- 


SELF-INTERROGATION. 


29 


fessions about conciliatory and impartial government in Ireland, were 
as false as the Father of Whiggery himself. 

prT' They dared not have given me a fair trial before my coun¬ 
trymen. If I had beaten them on that trial, it would havo 
been a victory which I could have followed up to their utter 
smash. I would soon have shown all Ireland the way—not to 
drive a coach-and-six through, but to ride rough-shod over 
their laws and them. 

Second .—By demonstrating that there is no Law or Constitution 
for us, I have put an end, one may hope, to “ constitutional agita¬ 
tion/’ and shamed the country out of “moral force” (in the O'Con- 
wellite sense). So, that delusion being put out of the way, there is a 
chance of my countrymen seeing, what is a solemn truth, that, for 
Ireland’s “grievances,” her famines, her party-spirit, her packed 
juries, her exterminations, there is but one and all-sufficient remedy, 
the edge of the sword. 

ipm*' As God is above me, this is true. On the truth of it I have 
staked body and soul, and will abide the issue. Those who 
consider that all through O’Connell’s forty years of “agita¬ 
tion,” the people had been industriously taught by him and 
the priests to keep the peace, and abhor bloodshed, and also to 
“keep within the law” (thus falsely and fatally acknowledg¬ 
ing the existence of government, and the validity of London 
law) will understand the difficulty of making any way in 
respect of this matter, and also the need there was to enforce 
the true doctrine openly, and so to break the canting spell. 

'Third .—I have shown the Catholics of Ireland that they are not 
yet emancipated, for all their Clare-clections 5 that they aie delibe¬ 
rately, ostentatiously debarred from executing the common civic office 
of jurors in any case of public concernment—that is to say, that they 
are not citizens in their own land—that is to say, that they aie slaves 
—for there is no middle term. They are ruled now, as ever, by the 
sword ; if they go on quietly obeying this kind of rule, let them obey, 
and be damned! 

I do not know what they will do upon being made to learn 
this lesson. I only know what they ought to do. All Catholic 
judges, assistant-barristers, magistrates, and other function¬ 
aries, ought to resign their employments; all Catholic police¬ 
men ought to strip off their ignominious livery 5 all Catholic 
soldiers ought to desert—in one word, what the Catholics 


so 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


ought to do is to tear up society from its roots, but they will 
be citizens in their own laud. What they will do, for the 
present, is the reverse of all this. Some of the respectable 
castle-Catholics will thank me little for bringing their degrada¬ 
tion so prominently into public view 5 they think they are 
emancipated enough, and will curse me by their gods, if they 
have any. Heaven! where is the great heart of chief and 
tanist? How has the rich blood of O’Conor and O’Donnell 
Roe grown pale I Is this, the stateliest family of the Caucasian 
race, indeed, starved and kicked into incurable Helotism? 

But young Catholics are growing up—even, I trust, in the 
castle-going rank of life—who will shame their fathers, and do 
honor to their ancestors. 

Fourth. —I have made sure—for the thing is not going to stop 
here—that the breach between the Irish people and the Carthaginian 
government w T ill be made henceforth wider and deeper than ever— 
that disaffection will grow and thrive—that Nice, Queen of Carthage, 
will not steer her yacht to Ireland this summer of 18-18, as she gra¬ 
ciously intended*—that Ireland will become ungovernable to all 
Carthaginian governments ; and, finally, that the struggle will be¬ 
come a republican one in the long run.f 
Now, if I have indeed done, or helped to do, or materially furthered 
and provided for the doing of these things—and if my zeal in this 
matter has not been born of greediness, or ambition, or vain-glory, 
shall I not say that I have done well ? Shall I not go on my dark 
voyage with a stout heart—aye, and wear my fetters lightly, as gar¬ 
lands of fknvers? I may not know, indeed, how the great, game 
goes ; newspapers will probably be wholly out of my reach. The 
cause may prosper soon and suddenly beyond all my hope—or may 
be shipwrecked by fools, or sold by traitors, for a time. I, myself 
(but that is no great matter), may be named patriot and martyr— 
Heaven help me!—or, contrariwise, may be “ sung and proverbed 

* But the next year Her Gracious Majesty did carry her beneficent intention 
into effect, and the debased nation set its neck under her feet in a paroxysm of 
fictitious “ loyalty.” It is painful to relate, but it is the disgraceful fact—J. M. 

t All these reflections, inferences, and predictions, I give exactly as I wrote them 
down at the time. I stand to them all; though I know that many will say subse¬ 
quent events have belied them. We shall yet see whether those subsequent events 
will not have events subsequent to them also, and belying them; the remotion of 
the negative is the position of the affirmative.—J. M. 


MY FELLOW FELONS. 


31 


for a fool in every street’''—or, indeed, clean lost sight of within a 
month. And I, in some far latitude, perhaps under the Southern 
Constellations, will be unconsciously doing my daily convict-work. 
What would I not give, six months hence, for a bulletin from Reilly 
or Martin to tell me how it goes! 

I am not afraid of either cowardice or treachery on the part of our 
cliiefest men. Meagher is eloquent and ardent—brave to act, brave, 
if need be, to suffer. I would that he took the trouble to think for 
himself. O’Brien is bold and high-minded, but capricious, unac¬ 
countable, intractable. Also he is an aristocrat born and bred, and 
being a genuine Irishman himself, he cannot be brought to see that 
his fellow-aristocrats are not Irish, but the irreconcilable enemies of 
Ireland. Then who will dare to write or publish one word of bold 
truth ? The Freeman will be tame and legal till the evil days are 
overpast. The JVation will be so busy giving “ the party’’ a properly 
Girondesque character, and discriminating carefully between the wild 
montagnards—to wit, mo and the like of me—on the one hand, aud 
the truly respectable Lafayette-Lamartinists, on the other ; that he 
will be of little use in dealing with the substantial Irish affair that 
lies before him. Dillon—0 Gorman—good and brave men, but not 
sufficiently desperate. My chief trust is in Martin and Reilly: but 
then they will probably be the very first devoured by the Cartha¬ 
ginian sea-monster. God be with them all, and direct them 5 and 
above all, put some heart into the poor people! 

It darkened over the sea, and the stars came out ; and the dark 
kills of Wicklow had shrouded themselves in the night-fog before I 
moved from the shoreward gunwale of the quarter-deck. My two 
guardians, the police constables in plain clothes, who had never left 
my side, now told me it was growing late, and that tea was ready 
below. Went down, accordingly, and had an “ {esthetic tea” with 
two detectives. Asked my two friends if they knew my destination. 
They knew nothing, they said, but thought it probable I would nou 
be removed from Spike Island—supposed that government would 
just keep me there “ till matters were a little quieted down,” and 
then let me go. Well, I think differently, my plain-coated, plain- 
fitted friends. On Ireland, or anywhere near it, assuredly I will not 
be allowed to live. But where, then? The Carthaginians have con¬ 
vict-colonies everywhere—at Gibraltar ; at Bermuda, in the Atlantic ; 
at Norfolk Island, in the Pacific; besides Van Diemen’s land, and 
the various settlements in New South Wales—for on British telony 


32 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


itie sun never sets. To any one of these I may find myself steering 
within the twenty-four hours. But be my prison were it will, I sup¬ 
pose there is a heaven above that place. 

There is a good berth provided for me here, and I am as sleepy as 
a tired ploughman. Good night, then, Ireland, and Irish tumults, 
strugglings, and vociferations, quackery, puffery, and endless talk! 
Good night, friends and enemies! And good night, my sweet wife 
and widow!—yet we shall meet again. 

28 th .—Sunday morning. A bright morning, but no land in sight. 
Found the United Irishman of yesterday in my cabin—the sixteenth 
and last number. Read all the articles. Good Martin! brave Reilly l 
but you will be swallowed, my fine fellows. “ Government ” has 
adopted the vigorous policy. 

Was invited to breakfast with the lieutenants and surgeons ; all 
very polite to me. One of them, whom I take to be the second 
lieutenant, is a fine young fellow, who has lately returned from the 
Pacific, after cruising there seven years, and is as brown as Queen 
Pomare. He is an Irishman, but far more familiar with the politics 
of Tai'ti and Hawaii, than with Irish affairs. About ten o’clock the 
land-fog rose, and far to the northward I could recognize the coast 
about Youghal, the opening of the Blackwater, and beyond these, 
faint and blue, the summits of Knockmeledown. We had kept a 
wide berth from the land all night, but were now making straight for 
Cork harbor. Soon it opened ; within half an hour more we came to 
anchor opposite Cove, and within five hundred yards of Spike Island 
—a rueful looking place, where I could discern, crowning the hill, 
the long walls of the prison, and a battery commanding the harbor. 
A boat was instantly lowered and manned. My friends in plain 
clothes told me they would “take it on their own responsibility” 
(policemen have high responsibilities in Ireland) not to put me in 
irons as I went ashore. The Commander and first lieutenant buckled 
on their swords, and took their seats in the stern of the boat beside 
me. We were rowed rapidly to the island, and as we walked up the 
approach we met an elderly, grave-looking gentleman, who said, 
“ Mr. Mitchel, I presume !” How the devil, thought I, did you know 
already that I was coming to you ?—forgetting that Lord Clarendon, 
before I was “ tried,” made sure of my conviction. However, I 
bowed, and then he turned and escorted us to his den, over a draw¬ 
bridge, past several sentries, through several gratings, and at last 
into a small square court. At one side of this court a door opened 





SPIKE ISLAND. 


33 


into a large vaulted room, furnished with a bed, table, chair, and 
basin-stand, and I was told that I was in my cell. The two naval 
officers took their leave politely, saying they hoped to meet me under 
happier circumstances ; and they seemed really sorry. I bowed and 
thanked them ; and I was left alone. I found I had the range of the 
cell and the court before it, no prisoner being there but myself. Mr. 
Grace, the Governor, came in to tell me I might write home if I 
chose, submitting the letter to him. I did write, telling where I was, 
and desiring a trunk to be sent to me with some clothes and a few 
books. Mr. Grace also offered to lend me books while I should stay. 
A turnkey, or guard in blue uniform, kept sauntering up and down 
the court, and sometimes lounged into the room. Asked him what 
he wanted. He told me he was not to leave me until lock-up hour— 
thought this a great grievance, and wished for lock-up hour. It came 
at last: my door was shut, and for the first time I was quite alone. 

And now,—as this is to be a faithful record of whatsoever befalls 
me, I do confess, and will write down the confession, that I flung 
myself on the bed, and broke into a raging passion of tears—tears 
bitter and salt—tears of wrath, pity, regret, remorse—but not of base 
lamentation for my own fate. The thoughts and feelings that have 
so shaken me for this once, language was never made to describe ; 
but if any austere censor could find it in his heart to vilipend my 
manhood therefor, I would advise him to wait until he finds himself 
in a somewhat similar position. Believe me, oh, Stoic ! if your soul 
were in my soul’s stead, I also could heap up words against you, and 
shake mine head at you. 

It is over, and finally over. In half an hour I rose, bathed my head 
in water, and walked a -while up and down my room. I know that all 
weakness is past, and that I am ready for my fourteen years’ ordeal, 
and for whatsoever the same may bring me—toil, sickness, ignominy, 
death. Fate, thou art defied. 

20th .—In this court nothing is to be seen but the high walls and 
the blue sky. And beyond these walls I know is the beautiful bay 
lying in the bosom of its soft green hills. If they keep me here for 
many years I will forget what the fair outer world is like. Gazing 
on grey stones, my eyes will grow stony. 

After breakfast to-day Mr Grace came into my cell with a turnkey. 
He had a suit of brown convict-clothes in his hand, and said it was an 
unpleasant duty he had to perform, but that I must put on those 
clothes. I obeyed without remark, and in a few minutes after this a 

2 * 


34 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


fat, red man came in to look at me. This was the governor of Smith- 
field prison in Dublin, who is about to return home, and who desires 
to be enabled to attest at head-quarters that he had seen me in 
convict costume. To me the whole affair is totally indifferent. 

Drew my chair to the door, sat down in the sun, and spent an hour 
or two in reading the Merry Wives of Windsor. Thank God for 
Shakspeare at any rate. Baron Lefroy cannot sentence Shakspeare 
to death, nor so much as mulct him for damages, though I am told 
he deserves it for defamation of character in this case of Sir John 
Falstaff. The real Falstaff, or Fastolf, I am assured, was a very 
grave and valiant knight, and built himself the great castle of Caistor 
to dwell in ; never drank sack in Eastcheap, nor made love in Wind¬ 
sor ; was neither poor, fat, nor witty, like our Sir John, but was, in 
fact, as like to other good knights of the period as one shotten herring 
is like another shotten herring. Well; suppose all this to be what 
you call “ true,” which, then, is the more real and substantial man ? 
I hold that our Sir John is the authentic Sir John, and that your 
Fastolf was an impostor. Why, I have seen the man, and laughed 
with him a hundred times : for though he is fat and groweth old, and 
his hair is grey, yet the fine old fellow will never die—in truth he 
was born with a grey head and something of a round belly. And so 
he can take his sack still, witty himself, and the cause of wit in others 
even to this day. Oh! I have much to say in the behalf of that 
F alstaff. 

While I sat in the sun, a largo and important-looking gentlemau 
came into the yard, who is, I understand, “ Inspector four or five 
well-dressed young gentlemen were with him. They passed into my 
room, made a few mutteml remarks to one another, and went out 
again, looking very sharply at me as they passed. I gazed at them 
abstractedly, as if I were looking through them, and thinking of 
something else. They came, I believe, only to see me. Very well: 
I wish them much comfort. 

COM.—My turnkey, who is desired never to leave me, I find to be 
a good, quiet sort of creature. He is some kind of dissenter, hums 
psalm-tunes almost under his breath, and usually stays as far away 
from me as our bounds will allow him. There is a door in the high 
wall leading into another inclosure, and as I was taking a turn 
through my territory to-day, the turnkey was near that door, and he 
said to me in a low voice—“ This way, sir, if you please he held 
the door open, I passed through, and immediately a tall, gentleman- 


EDWARD WALSU. 


35 


like person, in black but rather over-worn clothes, camo up to me 
and grasped both my hands with every demonstration of reverence. 
I knew his face, but could not at first remember who he was,—he was 
Edward Walsh, author of Mo craoibhin mo, and other sweet songs, 
and of some very musical translations from old Irish ballads. Tears 
stood in his eyes, as he told me he had contrived to get an opportunity 
of seeing and shaking hands with me before I should leave Ireland. 
I asked him what he was doing at Spike Island, and he told me he 
had accepted the office of teacher to a school they keep here for 
small convicts,—a very wretched office indeed, and to a shy, sensitive 
creature, like Walsh y it must be daily torture. lie stooped down and 
kissed my hands. “Ah!” he said, “you are now t'he man in all 
Ireland most to be envied .” I answered that I thought there might 
be room for difference of opinion about that; and then, after another 
kind word or two, being warned by my turnkey, I bade him farewell 
and retreated into my own den. Poor Walsh! He has a family of 
young children ; he seems broken in health and spirit ; ruin has been 
oil his traces for years, and I think has him in the wind at last. 
There are more contented galley-slaves moiling at Spike than the 
school-master. Perhaps this man does really envy me 5 and most 
assuredly I do not envy him. 

31s£.—The important Inspector came to me to-day, accompanied 
by Mr. Grace. He asked if I had any complaint to make to him ? 
“ None whatever,” I answered. He hesitated a moment, and then 
said, “ It has become my duty to inform you that government have 
determined on sending you out of the country.” “Indeed! how 
soon?” “To-morrow morning.” “May I ask to what part of the 
world?” “Bermuda.” “And by what conveyance?” “A man-of- 
war, which has arrived to-day in the harbor.” “ Very good,” quoth 
I, and they left me. Presently Mr. Grace returned, said he was 
glad to tell me matters did not promise to go so hard with me as he 
had expected,—that he had a letter from the Castle, directing him to 
treat me quite differently from a “ common convict,” to let me wear 
my own clothes, not to put me in irons, &c.; further, that he had 
been already on board the ship which was to carry me to Bermuda, 
the “ Scourge,” a large war-steamer ; that he had seen the instruc¬ 
tions which had been delivered to the Commander before he left 
Portsmouth, and which bore that I was to be treated on the passage 
“ as a person of education and a gentleman,”—so it ran—and to have 
accommodations thereunto correspondent. 


36 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


A person of education and a gentleman! And if such a person 
has indeed committed a felony, is he not just all the more felonious? 
If a person of education commit the real crime of endeavoriug to sub¬ 
vert social order, to break down the sanction of law, and to destroy 
the government under which he lives (supposing order, law and 
government to exist), how does his education entitle him to indul¬ 
gence above other felons? But possibly you begin to see, Gaffer 
John Bull, that I am no felon at all, and have committed no crime at 
all, notwithstanding your new “ Act of Parliament ” in that case 
made and provided; and you think it impolitic, or else you are 
ashamed, to proceed to the uttermost rigor with me. Cowardly 
John! You ought either not to take up the vigorous policy at all, 
or else to carry it through with a high hand. This is child’s play. 
Positively I am either a felon or no felon—that is to say either I am 
a felon, or you, John, are a felon. 

Mr. Grace excuses himself for putting me into convict dress; says 
he had no instructions to the contrary at first, and did not know how 
they might feel towards me at the Castle ; and so he was afraid to 
refuse when the Smithfield gaoler required to see me in felon array, 
that he might report it in Dublin. Curious that this should have 
happened twice. In Dublin also I had to put on the convict dress 
and strip it off again instantly. Come, my Lord Clarendon, either I 
am a felon or not a felon. 

But perhaps they do this to vex and hurt me, not knowing how 
callous I am. 

Wrote this evening to my wife, a cheerful letter, telling her every¬ 
thing that is pleasant in my situation, and how I am to be a gentle¬ 
man, at least while on board the “ Scourge.” But I fear now that 
her expected letter will not arrive before I sail, and then I may not 
hear for months anything that has befallen since I took leave of her 
in Newgate—what seizures have been made by the police—what she 
is going to do with the house in Dublin—where she means to live— 
how my children are. My wardrobe, too, is somewhat scanty, for a 
“ gentleman,” seeing that they brought me away from Newgate in an 
old brown summer coat, old shoes, and a glazed cap ; and the trunk 
I wrote for cannot come in time. Mr. Grace, however, has kindly 
taken the trouble of procuring for me at Cove a few changes of linen 
and other small indispensables. The surgeon of the establishment, a 
young man from the county Monaghan, came to request some auto¬ 
graphs from me. It seems the women in Cove importuned him ; so 


SCOURGE WAR STEAMER. 


37 


I indulged him with half a dozen, and wish the sweet girls much joy 
with them. 

Speaking of this surgeon, I must not forget to record that the first 
time he saw me he made most minute inquiries about my health ; and 
when I told him I was in perfect health, and never had been better 
in all my life, he remarked that I looked rather delicate—perhaps 1 
had been subject occasionally to some complaint ? Told him I had, 
to asthma, now and then, but was at present quite free from it. He 
said that would do. “Do what?” I asked ; whereupon he told me 
that it might be necessary, in order to justify Mr. Grace in not 
netting me to work , to have a certificate from him that my health 
was rather delicate. All this passed on Monday last, and before Mr. 
Grace had received orders from the Castle not to use me as a 
convict. 

I set down all these trifling particulars relating to my usage here 
because I foresee the worthy “ government” will have occasion to tell 
official falsahoods on the subject before all is over. Otherwise they 
are of no importance to me at all. 

At five o’clock to-morrow morning a boat is to come ashore for me. 

June 1st .—It was on a raw damp morning that I took my last look 
of Irish land. The first lieutenant of the “ Scourge,” in full costume, 
with cocked hat and sword, came for me with a boat full of marines. 
The “ Scourge” lay about a mile distant—a long, low, rakish-looking 
steamer, with black hull and two funnels. In a few minutes I stepped 
on deck, and was presented to the captain, who was walking on the 
quarter-deck. He lifted his cap, and asked me to go below and he 
would show me my quarters. The principal cabin is very handsome, 
divided into two rooms, of which the one farthest aft is to be occupied 
by me as a sleeping-cabin. It has couches, chairs, and a table, and 
is lighted by all the stern windows. During the day both rooms are 
to be open to me ; and the captain said that as he is obliged to con¬ 
sider me a prisoner, there will be a marine always stationed on 
sentry at the foot of the companion ladder, and that whenever I desire 
to go upon deck, which I may do when I please, I am to inform the 
gentry, who will summon a sergeantthat for the rest, he hoped his 
hours would suit me, when breakfast, dinner, and sofortk, will be 
served in the chief cabin. He is a quiet, saturnine, bilious, thin man, 
of about fifty, with a very low voice—not at all a bluff seaman, or a 
jolly tar, or the like ; yet I dare say he is an excellent officer, and 
will execute his orders. 


88 


JAIL J^'ENAL. 


Mr. Grace had promised to go to Cove and inquire for my let¬ 
ter ; and the vessel lay for an hour waiting his return. He came and 
brought a letter. I snatched it eagerly, and found in it a small re¬ 
ligious tract, which an unknown latly had sent me. No letter from 
home. Ten minutes after this we were steaming southward at ten 
knots an hour. So my moorings are cut. 

It rained dismally; the wind sung ruefully in shrouds and rig¬ 
ging ; and huge grey rain-clouds darkened over shore and sea. We 
were out of sight of land almost as soon as the ship had cleared the 
headlands of the bay. I waved my hand northeast-by-north, then 
went below and ate a tremendous breakfast. 

So my moorings are cut. I am a banished man. And this is no 
mere relegatio like Ovid’s at Tomi; it is utter exsilium, —interdic¬ 
tion of fire and water—the loss of citizenship, if citizenship I had— 
the brand of whatsoever ignominy law can inflict, if law there be. 
Be it so ; I am content; there are no citizens in Ireland,—there is no 
citizenship, no law; I cannot lose what I never had, for no Irishman 
has any rights at present. As for the disgrace of “ felony,” that sits 
very easy upon me 5 —to make me a felon needs an act of my own— 
no “ act of Parliament” can do it ; and what ignominy London “ law” 
can stain an Irishman withal I am content to underlie till my dying 
hour. Be that disgrace on my head and on the heads of my children. 

But for the thought of those children and their mother, and what 
temporary inconveniences they may suffer before arrangements can 
be made for their leaving Ireland, but for that, I should feel absolutely 
jolly to-day. There is something independent in setting forth on a voy¬ 
age of three thousand miles, with an old brown coat on my back, and a 
few shillings in my tricolor purse. The onus is not upon me. You, 
Sovereign Lady, Queen Nice, have charge of me now—look you take 
care of me. I am in your majesty’s hands at last, but you may find, 
oh, Queen, that I am too dear at the price you have paid, and are 
like to pay. I will cost you, most dread sovereign, rather more than 
my rations. 

It has come on to blow hard this evening. Dined on four teaspoon¬ 
fuls of arrowroot. 

2 d. Blowing still worse. Hoped fervently for a thoroughgoing 
storm ; when one is at sea, one may as well have trial of all the sea 
can do. Steward came into my cabin 5 asked him if it was a storm. 
“ No sir, only half a gale of wind.” I cursed its halfness, and tried 
to sleep. 


AT SEA. 


39 

3 d. Ship still pitching and rolling heavily; part of the bulwark, 
the steward told me, is stove in—still no storm. Went on deck. 
Storm or no storm, this Atlantic rears grand, mountainous waves. 
Porpoises tumbling—Storm-Petrel skimming. This bird is the 
Mother Carey’s Chicken or procellaria —but I scorn it. All these 
things, are they not written in the journal of any young lady sailing 
to India for a husband,—or missionary, or “ literary 1 ’ (that is, book¬ 
spinning) naval officer, spinning as he goes, for a manufacturer in 
Paternoster Row ? 

Went over the “ Scourge” and surveyed her fore and aft. She is a 
fine ship. A long unbroken flush deck; one huge mortar, containing 
five tons of metal, close behind the mainmast,—one “ long gun 
pointed over the bow,—one brass field-piece mounted on a carriage 
in the stern,—and four carronades. She is manned by 180 men and 
boys. The long gun is a tremendous instrument. The sergeant of 
marines who has .charge of me, a very fat and good-humored fellow 
who rolls in his waddle, as only a fat Englishman can roll, seems 
greatly attached to this gun. He saw me looking at it, and came os er 
to show me all the conditions of it,—how it traverses, how it is laiscd 
and lowered by a graduated scale for taking aim, and so forth. Ah! 
Sir,” said he, “ she’s a elever piece—she’s just a clever piece,” he 
repeated, slapping her affectionately on the breech as he said it. The 
men were called to drill by beat of drum, and here was a new thing to 
me ; for it seems all the sailors, as well as marines on board a man- 
of-war are regularly drilled as soldiers. They were armed with mus¬ 
ket and bayonet, cutlasses, boarding-pikes, and hatchets altogether 
most formidable looking pirates. They were drilled by the principal 
gunner, and certainly know how to handle their arms; but the ship 
rolled so much that, as they were ranged along the deck, they had 
to balance themselves very cunningly, on toes and heels alternately ; 
and sometimes seemed on the point of making an involuntary charge 
across the deck with fixed bayonets, pinning the gunner and half a 

dozen officers to the opposite bulwark. 

The organizer and chief mover on board the “Scourge” is the first 
lieutenant. By the first word he addressed to me, I perceived he 
was a Derry or Tyrone Irishman,—told him so, and found that I was 
right. He is a native of Tyrone ; and he and I went to school in the 
same city, Derry, at the same time, more than tw r enty years ago, but 
not the same school. For twenty-four years ho has been in the navy, 
and is (the captain tells me), a most admirable officer ; but seems to 


40 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


think he will never be anything but a lieutenant. He has not parlia¬ 
mentary connections, and is an Irishman. 

Dined with the captain, whose name is Wingrove. After dinner, 
the saturnine man relaxed a little, and even grew cheerful. He 
thought I ought to be deeply impressed by my survey of his ship, and 
duly awed by a contemplation of the power and majesty of “ England.” 
Yes, it is all very terrible and very grand, Captain, but if Irishmen 
had only the sense and spirit to take the management of their own 
concerns, you would want carriages for some of your guns : some of 
the gilding would be rubbed off your epaulettes, I apprehend. The 
herds and harvests that we send every year to England (getting 
neither money nor value for them), would build and man dozens of 
your spitfire Scourges, besides frigates, and line of battle ships, 
what may suffice. Wood, iron, hemp, gunpowder, would obey Irish 
hands as well as Carthaginian. 

Captain Wingrove has good wine. He had just come from Madeira 
and Portugal, when he was ordered off to Bermuda, so that he has 
had opportunities. He is evidently curious about late events in 
Ireland, but does not like to ask me much about them. Said he 
understood there was a practice in Ireland, in the law courts there, 
called packing juries , and asked what it meant. I explained it to 
him ; but it is clear that he hardly believes me : indeed he listens to 
everything I say with a kind of quiet smile—and sometimes looks 
doubtfully at me, as if he thought me slightly insane, and expected 
me to break out in some strange manner. 

7th .—The weather has been very beautiful and warm for some days; 
but to-day it is rather foggy, to my sorrow, for we are passing through 
the Azores between Terceira and St. Michael’s, and cannot see them. 
They are most lovely islands, with fine mountains and rivers, rich in 
grain and fruit. Portugal has these and Madeira yet; but perhaps 
the next war will give an excuse to the bullying pirates of Carthage, 
to take the Azores for coal depots, or convict depots, and so create 
some situations to relieve the pressure of younger sons. 

The officers of the ship seem desirous to make my voyage as little 
irksome to me as possible. Several of them have offered to lend me 
books and though I had vowed to look on no book save sea and sky 
during the passage, I find I must have recourse to them. A sea 
\oyage is a \eiy tedious affair: the weather indeed is warm and 
sciene, but I ’gin to be aweary of the sun : he is advancing fast to his 
summer solstice, and and we are rushing to meet him at the rate of 


A. T SEA 


41 


180 miles per clay. The pure profound blue of the ocean is most 
glorious to see. One whose navigation has been confined to crossing 
St.Tleorge’s Channel, with its short chopping waves and dull leaden 
color, has never seen the sea. 


4.2 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER II. 

Yachting in the “Scourge”—Two Years before the Mast—Review of an Edin¬ 
burgh Reviewer—The Nineteenth Century—Bombarding the Moon—Macaulay 
on Bacon—The New Philosophy—Chasing our own Shadows—Good Night, 
Nineteenth Century !—Bermuda—“ Ireland Island.” 

Tune 12 th, 1848. On board H. M. S. Scourge. Lat. 34° N., long. 
40° 22' W.—No ship has been in sight for five days. The routine of 
the “ Scourge” has grown familiar ; and one tires of unbroken fine 
weather and smooth seas. No resource for me but the officers’ little 
library. Therefore I have been sleepily poring over Dana’s “ Two 
Years before the Mast ”—a pleasant, rough kind of book, but with 
something too much hauling of ropes and “handing” of sails in 
it. Dana’s voyage was a strange one. He shipped himself as a com¬ 
mon sailor, on board a Boston shij) bound to California, on a two 
years’ trading voyage, and subjected himself to short rations and the 
insolence of a brutal captain—and all because he had heard the sea 
was good for weak eyes. In fact he cured the weakness in his eyes. 
Now I have weak eyes too. Cannot I assume this present seafaring 
of mine, and my residence in Bermuda, to be merely a method I have 
adopted for the strengthening of my eyes? And I will probably 
have no insolence, or hard work, or hard fare to put up with, as poor 
Dana had. Neither will I be one whit more a prisoner than he was. 

Mr. Dana is now, I believe, a successful lawyer in Boston 5 and there¬ 
fore, perhaps, more a prisoner, drudge and slave now, than ever. 
Truly I may think my own position sad enough—but what would I 
say if I were in poor Mr. Dana's ? 

I have been reading, also, “ The Amber Witch,” a most beautiful 
German story, translated into admirable English, by Lady Duff Gor¬ 
don. 

We are in the region now of flying-fish and dolphins—not Arion's 
dolphins, nor, indeed, any dolphins at all, but what the ichthyologi- 


REVIEW OF A REVIEWER. 


43 


cal terminology of the British navy calls dolphins. Sometimes, also, 
we pass through whole flotillas of “Portugese men-of-war,” as the 
naval branch of the United Service calls those beautiful floating 
mollusks that cruise in these parts under their opaline sails of purple 
and rose-colored membrane. And again, we are often surrounded 
by the Gulf-weed, which diffuses itself hereabouts, after its long 
navigation from the Gulf of Mexico—if such be really its history, 
which I doubt. 

Met a large ship to-day. We passed at a distance of two miles: 
she shows French colors, and is supposed to be a West-Indiaman, 
homeward bound—and for France ! In a few days the vineyards on 
Garonne-bank, or the quays of Nantes or Havre, will welcome her 
snowy sails—Oh! had I the wings of a dove !- 

14i th. —Gulf-weed, Portuguese men-of-war, flying-fish. 

1 5th. —Flying-fish, Portuguese mcn-of-war, Gulf-weed, 

lGth. —Gulf-weed, flying-fish, Portuguese men-of-war. 

17 th. —Reading, for want of something better, Macaulay 7 s Essays. 
He is a born Edinburgh-reviewer, this Macaulay, and indeed a type- 
reviewer—an authentic specimen page of nineteenth century “ litera¬ 
ture.” He has the right omniscient tone, and air, and the true knack 
of administering reverential flattery to British civilization, British 
prowess, honor, enlightenment, and all that—especially to the great 
nineteenth century and its astounding civilization—that is, to his 
readers. It is altogether a new thing in the history of mankind, this 
triumphant glorification of a current century upon being the century 
it is :—no former age, before Christ or after, ever took any pride in 
itself and sneered at the wisdom of its ancestors :—and the new 
phenomenon indicates, I believe, not higher wisdom, but deeper 
stupidity. The nineteenth century is come, but not goneand 
what, now, if it should be, hereafter, memorable among centuries for 
something quite other than its wondrous enlightenment? Mr. 
Macaulay, however, is well satisfied with it for his part, and in his essay 
on Milton penny-a-lines thus—“ Every girl who has read Mrs. Marcet’s 
little dialogues on political economy, could teach Montague or 
Walpole many lessons on finance. Any intelligent man may now, 
by resolutely applying himself for a few years to mathematics, learn 
more than the great Newton knew after half-a-century of study and 
meditation ”—and so on. If Pythagoras, now, could only have, been 
introduced to Mrs. Marcet—or even to one of her premium girls— 
how humbly would he have sat at her feet! Could Aristotle or 



44 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


Hipparchus but have seen Mr. Pinnock before they died, how would 
they have sung nunc dimittas ! This nineteenth-century man, and 
indeed the century generally, can see no difference between being 
told a thing—conning it in a catechism, or 11 little dialogue ”—and 
knowing it: between getting by heart a list of results, what you call 
facts, and mastering science. 

Still more edifying, even than Edinburgh wisdom, is the current 
Edinburgh ethics. Herein, also, the world has a new development, 
and as I am now about to retire a little while from the great business 
of this stirring age, to hide me, as it were, in a hole of the rock, 
while the loud-sounding century, with its steam-engines, printing- 
presses and omniscient popular literature, flares and rushes roaring 
and gibbering by—I have a mind to set down a few of Macaulay’s 
sentences, as a kind of land-marks, just to remember me where the 
world and I parted. For I do, indeed, account this Reviewer a real 
type and recognized spokesman of his age ; and by the same token 
he is now, by virtue of his very reviewing too, a Cabinet-minister. 

In his essay on Lord Bacon, he freely admits the treacherous, 
thoroughly false and unprincipled character of the statesmen of that 
age : thinks, however, we must not be too hard on them : says, “ it 
is impossible to deny that they committed many acts, which would 
justly bring down, on a statesman of our time, censures of the most 
serious kind ” [as that a man is a liar, an extortioner, a hypocrite, a 
suborner]—but wiien we consider the state of morality in their age, 
and the unscrupulous character of the adversaries against whom they 
had to contend,” &c. 

And the state of morality, it seems, varies, not with the age only, 
but with the climate also, in a w r onderful manner. For the Essayist, 
waiting of Lord Clive and his villainies in India, pleads in behalf of 
Clive, that “ he knew he had to deal with men destitute of what in 
Europe is called honor ; with men wiio would give any promise, 
without hesitation, and break any promise without shame ; with men 
who would unscrupulously employ corruption, perjury, forgery, to 
compass their ends.” And they knew that they had to deal with men 
destititute of what in Asia is called honesty , men who would 
unscrupulously employ corruption, perjury, forgery, &c.,—so, wiiat 
were the poor men to do, on either side ?—the state of morality w 7 as 
so low! When one is tempted to commit any wickedness, he ought 
apparently to ascertain this point—what is the state of morality ? 
How range the quotations? Is this an age (or a climate) adapted 


THE NINETEENTH OENTUEY. 


45 


for open robbery? Or does the air agree better with swindling and 
cheating? Or must one cant and pray, and pretend anxiety to 
convert the heathen, to compass one’s ends ? But to come back to 
Lord Clive, the great founder of British power in India; when the 
Essayist comes to that point at which he cannot get over fairly 
telling us how Clive swindled Omichund by a forged paper, he says: 
“ But Clive was not a man to do anything by halves [too much 
British energy for that]. We almost blush to write it. He forged 
Admiral Watson’s name.” Almost blush, but not just quite, Oh! 
Babington Macaulay. This approximation to blushing on the part 
of the blue-and-yellow Reviewer, is a graceful, touching tribute to 
the lofty morality of our blessed century. 

For morality now , Lord bless you! ranges very high—and Religion, 
also : through all our nineteenth-century British literature there 
runs a tone of polite, though distant recognition of Almighty God, 
as one of the Great Powers : and though no resident is actually 
maintained at His court, yet British civilization gives Him assurances 
of friendly relations : and “ our venerable church,” and our “ beau¬ 
tiful liturgy ” are relied upon as a sort of diplomatic Concordat, or 
Pragmatic Sanction, whereby we, occupied as we are in grave com¬ 
mercial and political pursuits, carrying on our business, selling our 
cotton and civilizing our heathen—bind ourselves* to let Him alone , 
if He lets ns alone—if lie will keep looking apart, contemplating 
the illustrious Mare-milkers, and blameless Ethiopians, and never- 
minding us, we will keep up a most respectable church for Him, and 
make our lower orders venerate it, and pay for it handsomely, and 
we will suffer no national infidelity, like the horrid French. 

For the venerable Church of England, and for our beautiful liturgy, 
the Essayist has a becoming respect; and in his essay on Hallam’s 
Constitutional History, I find a sentence or two on this point worth 
transcribing. He is writing about the villains who reformed religion 
in England, and the other miscreants who accomplished the Glorious 
Revolution, and he says—“It was, in one sense, foitunate, as we 
have already said, for the Church of England, that the Reformation 
in this country was effected by men who cared little about religion. 
And in the same manner it was fortunate for our civil government 
that the Revolution was effected by men who cared little about their 
political principles. At such a crisis, splendid talents and strong 
passions [by strong passions he means any kind of belief or principle] 
might have done more harm than good.” But then he immediately 


46 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


acids—for we must keep up an elevated tone of morality now—“ But 
narrowness of intellect, and flexibility of principle, though they may 
be serviceable, can never be respectable.” Why not? If scoundrels 
and blockheads can rear good, serviceable, visible churches for the 
saving of men, and glorious constitutions for the governing of men, 
what hinders them from being respectable ? What else is respectable ? 
Or indeed, what is the use of the splendid talents and the strong 
passions at all ?- 

I am wasting my time, and exasperating the natural benignity of 
my temper with this oceanic review of the Edinburgh Reviewer. But 
my time at least is not precious just now, and I will plunge into the 
man’s essay on Lord Bacon, which cannot fail to be the most cha¬ 
racteristic piece of British Literature in the volumes. 

This must be done to-morrow; for there are two sails reported in 
sight on the weather-bow, which is an event of high interest at sea; 
besides, the sun is drawing near his evening bath—a grand imperial 
ceremony at which I always assist. 

The ships in sight are, one American and one Carthaginian. 

18 th. — Last night, after two bells (one o’clock), I was awakened by 
great trampling, pushing, hauling, and thumping on deck. Some¬ 
thing unusual was certainly going forward. Got up, went through 
the cabin, and to the foot of the companion ladder ; found the sky¬ 
lights of the cabin removed, and smooth deck laid in their place— 
the captain out on deck—the companion ladder blocked up at the 
top. The deck was cleared for action. I heard loud words of com¬ 
mand. Spirit of the Constitution! has war been declared since we 
came to sea? Is Baudin, is Trehouart upon us?—may the Powers 
grant it! Oh Trehouart, Amiral of Heaven! lay yourself alongside 
here—you can easily wing our accursed paddle, or send two or three 
fifty-pounders into us amidships, to derange the enconomy of our 
engine-room. I ran through the lieutenant’s room, telling a boy who 
was there to run before me and report me to my sergeant. At the 
foot of one of the funnels I found a ladder that brought me on deck. 
Ah! there was no enemy (no friend) in sight: it was only British 
discipline that had started British prowess from his sleep, to practise 
in the dead oi the night: we were alone on the wide silent sea, and 
were going to bombard the Moon. Four times we shelled her with 
our huge mortar,—not, if truth must be told, with actual bombshells, 
but with quarter-charges of powder : four times we thundered at her 
uith our long-gun, tour times with our carronadesj and then, British 



BOMBARDING THE MOON. 


47 


energy, having blotted the white moonshine awhile with his gunpow¬ 
der smoke, tumbled into his hammock again. No living soul, but 
those on board, heard that cannonade—for fishes are notoriously 
deaf. On the convex of the great globe we are all alone here : and 
even here amongst the guns the whole effect is mean, for there is no 
echo, and each report is a mere belch , far indeed from the reverbera¬ 
ting thunderous roll of heavy guns alongshore. It is a pitiful 
pyrotechny ; and the black thunder-bearing “ Scourge ” seems, in this 
silent immensity, but a small black spiteful spitfire doing its paltry 
worst to trouble the still empire of great ambrosial Night. But 
the smoke soon melts away, drifting off to leeward, and the solemn 
Moon (unharmed apparently) looks down as mildly on ship and 
ocean as before the battery was opened upon her. Forgive the impu¬ 
dent spitfire, oh soft Moon ! Sink her not to the depths with a dis¬ 
charge of thy terrible aerolite grape,—for thou too, as I do remem¬ 
ber, art potent in artillery. “ What is to become of us mortals” saith 
Jean Paul, “dwelling on this bare convexity, and the Moon going 
round bombarding us with stones, like a Turk!” Let there be peace 
between us and thee, oh Toijofiopal Oh fairest huntress ’I o^saipal 
Call to mind those nights on Latmos, and be gracious to mortal 
man. We have war-engines enough, argument enough, and diabolic 
rage enough, to tear, blow up, crush, and batter one another,—ay, ’ * 
enough to glut thee in thy character of Hecate, without thy ordnance 
of meteor-stones. Needs not that thou exact human sacrifices, beau¬ 
tiful Bendis! Gentle Astarte, queen of Heaven! There be ill-fa¬ 
vored demons enough unto whom we may immolate our brothers,— 
Mammon and Moloch, and the truly enlightened god of civilization, 
fair-spoken Belial. Do thou, oh Moon! wheel thy bright orbit, 
weave thy mystic nodes, and fill thy horns in peace ! 

Fine rant this. 

After breakfast, when the sun burned too fiercely on deck, went 
below, threw off coat and waistcoat for coolness, and began to read 
Macaulay on Bacon—“ the great English teacher,” as the reviewer 
calls him. And to do the reviewer justice, he understands Bacon, 
knows what Bacon did, and what he did not; and therefore sets small 
store by that illustrious Chimera’s new “method” of investigating 
truth. He is not ignorant; but knows that Lord Bacon’s discovery 
of the inductive “method,” or Novum Organum, is the most genuine 
piece of mare’s-nesting recorded in the history of letters. And, to do 
Bacon himself justice, for all the impudence of his title (Instciuralio 


48 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


Scientiarum ) and the pretentiousness of his outrageous phraseology, 
he hardly pretended to he the original discoverer of wisdom, to the 
extent that many Baconians, learned stupid asses, have pretended for 
him. Apart from the “induction” and the “method,” and the 
utterly inexcusable terminology (far worse even than the coinage of 
Jeremy Bentham), Bacon’s true distinction as a “ philosopher ” was 
this —I accept the essayist’s description—“ The philosophy which he 
taught w T as essentially new. Its object was the good of mankind, in 
the sense in which the mass of mankind always have understood, and 
always w T ill understand, the word good. The aim of the Platonic 
philosopher was to raise us far above vulgar wants ; the aim of the 
Baconian philosophy was to supply our vulgar wants. The former 
aim was noble 5 but the latter w r as attainable.” What the mass of 
mankind understand by the word good is, of course, pudding and 
praise and profit, comfort, power, luxury, supply of vulgar wants— 
all, in short, which Bacon included under the word commoda ; and to 
minister to mankind in these things is, according to the great English 
teacher, the highest aim—the only aim and end—of true philosophy 
or wisdom. Oh, Plato ! Oh, Jesu ! 

“ The former aim was noble, but the latter was attainable.” On 
the contrary, I affirm that the former aim was both noble and, to 
^many men, attainable ; the latter not only ignoble, but to all men 
unattainable, and to the noblest men most. 

The essayist makes himself very merry with the absurdities of what 
they called philosophy in times of ante-Baconian darkness. “ It dis¬ 
dained to be useful , and was content to be stationary. It dealt 
largely in theories of moral perfection, wffiich were so sublime that 
they never could be more than theories; in attempts to solve insoluble 
enigmas ; in exhortations to the attainment of unattainable frames of 
mind. It could not condescend to the humble office of ministering to 
the comfort of human beings.” 

Now the truth is, that Plato and Pythagoras did not undervalue 
comfort, and wealth, and human commoda at all 5 but they thought 
the task of attending to such matters w r as the business of ingenious 
tradespeople, and not of wise men and philosophers. If James Watt 
had appeared at Athens or Crotona with his steam-engine, he would 
certainly have got the credit of a clever person and praiseworthy 
mechanic—all he deserved ; but they never would have thought of 
calling him philosopher for that. They did actually imagine—those 
ancient wise men—that it is true wisdom to raise our thoughts and 


49 


THE NEW PHILOSOPHY. 

aspirations above what the mass of mankind calls good—to regard 
truth, fortitude, honesty, purity, as the great objects of human effort, 
and not the supply of vulgar wants. 

What a very poor fool Jesus Christ would have been, judged by the 
“ new philosophy,’ ’—for his aim and Plato’s were one. He disdained 
to be useful in the matter of our little comforts ;—yes, indeed, “ he 
could not condescend to the humble office of ministering to the 
comfort of human beings.” On the contrary, whatsoever things are 
pure, whatsoever things are holy, if there be any virtue ”- 

Why, good Messiah ! this is the mere Academy over again, nave 
you considered that these are unattainable frames of mind? You 
offer us living bread, and water which he that drinketh shall not 
thirst again ;—very beautiful, but too romantic. Can you help us to 
butter the mere farinaceous bread we have got, to butter it first on 
one side and then on the other ?—to improve the elemental taste and 
somewhat too paradisiac weakness of this water ? These are our 
vulgar wants ; these are what the mass of mankind agrees to call 
good. Whatsoever things are snug, whatsoever things are influ¬ 
ential—if there be any comfort, if there be any money, think on these 
things. Henceforth we acknowledge no light of the world which 
does not light our way to good things like these. 

Almost this sounds profanely; but the profanity belongs to the 
essayist. His comparison of Plato’s philosophy with modern inven¬ 
tive genius is exactly as reasonable as if he had compared the 
Christian religion—with the same. Ancient philosophy was indeed 
natural religion—was an earnest striving after spiritual truth and 
good ; it dealt with the supersensuous and nobler part of man ; and 
its “ aim ” was to purify his nature, and give him hope of an immor¬ 
tal destiny amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats. 

Just so, says the essayist; that was what they called wisdom— this 
is what I, Lord Bacon and I, call wisdom. “ The end which the great 
Lord Bacon proposed to himself was the multiplying of human 
enjoyments and the mitigating of human sufferings .” Anything 
beyond this we simply ignore ;—let all the inquirings, all the aspirings 
of mankind stop here. Leave off dreaming of your unattainable 
frames of mind, and be content with the truth as it is in Bacon. 

I can imagine an enlightened inductive Baconian standing by with 
scornful nose as he listens to the Sermon on the Mount, and then 
taking the preacher sternly to task—“ What mean you by all this—- 
‘ bless them that curse you’—‘ love your enemies ’—‘ be ye perfect as 



50 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


your Father in heaven is perfect!’ What mortal man ever attained 
these frames of mind ? Why not turn your considerable talents, 
friend, to something useful, something within reach ? Can you make 
anything ?—improve anything ?—You are, if I mistake not, a 
carpenter to trade, and have been working somewhere in -Galileo ; 
now have you invented any little improvement in your own respect¬ 
able trade ? Have you improved the saw, the lathe, the plane ? 
Can you render the loom a more perfect machine, or make a better 
job of the potter’s wheel ? Have you in any shape economized 
materials, economized human labor, added to human enjoyment ? 
Have you done, or can you show the way to do, any of all these 
things ? JYo ! Then away with him ! Crucify him 1” 

Ah! but, the enlightened Briton would say, now you talk of reli¬ 
gion ; that is our strong point in this admirable age and country. Is 
not there our venerable Church?—our beautiful liturgy? There is a 
department for all that, with the excellent Archbishop of Canterbury 
at the head of it. If information is wanted about the other world, or 
salvation, or anything in that line, you can apply at the head-office, 
or some of the subordinate stations. 

True, there is a department, and offices, and salaries, more than 
enough; yet the very fact is, that modern British civilization (which 
may be called the child of this great British teacher) is not only not 
Christian, but is not so much as Pagan. It takes not the smallest 
account of anything higher or greater than earth bestows. The hope¬ 
less confusion of ideas that made Bacon and Macaulay institute a 
comparison between ancient philosophy and modern ingenuity, is 
grown characteristic of the national mind and heart, and foreshadows 
national death. The mass ot mankind agree to call money, power, 
and pleasure, good ; and behold! the Spirit of the Age has looked on 
it, and pronounced it very good. The highest phase of human intel¬ 
lect and virtue is to be what this base spirit calls a philanthropist_ 

that is, one who, by new inventions and comfortable contrivances, 
mitigates human suffering, heightens human pleasure. The grandest 
effort of godlike genius is to augment human power—power over the 
elements, power over uncivilized men,—and all for our own comfort. 
Nay, by tremendous enginery of steam, and electricity, and gun¬ 
powder by capital and the “ law of progress,” and the superhuman 
power of co-operation, this foul Spirit of the Age does veritably count 
upon scaling the heavens. The failure of Otus and Ephialtes, 
Typhseus and Enceladus, of the builders of Shinar, never daunts kl„* 


CHASING SHADOWS. 


51 


a whit;—for why ?— they knew little of co-operation ; electricity 
and steam, and the principle of the arch, were utterly hidden from 
them ; civil engineering was in its infancy ; how should they not fail ? 

The very capital generated and circulated, and utilized on so 
grand a scale by civilized men now-a-days, seems to modern Britons, a 
power mighty enough to wield worlds ; and its nutnen is worshipped 
by them accordingly, with filthy rites. The God of mere nature will, 
they assure themselves, think twice before he disturbs and quarrels 
with such a power as this ; for indeed it is faithfully believed in the 
City, by the moneyed circles there, that God the Father has money 
invested in the three-per-cents, which makes him careful not to dis¬ 
turb the peace of the world, or suffer the blessed march of “ civiliz¬ 
ation ” to be stopped. 

Scmhle then, first, that the peace of the world is maintained so 
long as it is only the unmoneyed circle that are robbed, starved, and 
slain; and, second, that nothing civilizes cither gods or men like 
holding stock. 

But I am strong in the belief that the portentous confusion, both of 
language and thought, which has brought us to all this, and which is 
no accidental misunderstanding, but a radical confounding of the 
English national intellect and language, a chronic addlement of the 
general brain, getting steadily worse now for two hundred years, is 
indeed more alarming than the gibbering of Babel, and is symptomatic 
of a more disastrous ending. By terrible signs and wonders it shall 
be made known that comfort is not the chief end of man. I do 
affirm, I—that capital is not the ruler of the world—that the 
Almighty has no pecuniary interest in the stability of the funds or 
the European balance of power—finally, that no engineering, civil or 
military, can raise man above the heavens or shake the throne of God. 

On that day some nations that do now bestride the narrow world 
will learn lessons of true philosophy, but not new philosophy, in sack¬ 
cloth and ashes. And other nations, low enough in the dust now, 
will arise from their sackcloth and begin a new national life—to 
repeat, it may be, the same crimes and suffer the same penalties. 
For the progress of the species is circular ; or possibly in trochoidal 
curves, with some sort of cycloid for deferent; or more properly it 
oscillates, describing an arc of a circle, pendulum-wise ; and even 
measures time (by scons) in that manner; or let us say, in one word, 
fhe world wags. * * * * 

‘ ' Another crimson evening is upon us. The sun in a conflagration 


52 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


of clouds, flames on the very rim of Ocean. He too, the un¬ 
wearied sun, is chasing his own shadow round and round the world. 
“ The sun also ariseth and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his 
place whence he rose. All the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is 
not full;—unto the place from whence the rivers came, thither they 
return again. The waters wear the stones : Thou washest away the 
things which grow out of the dust of the earth 5 and thou aestroyest 
the hope of Man. Thou prevailest for ever against him, and he pas- 
seth.” Goodnight! 

19M.—One other observation upon the “ great English teacher,” 
and then I bid him farewell. Try to measure the value of him and 
his teaching, even in respect of human comfort, power, and luxury, 
the great end of it all. First, he never discovered, or even thoroughly- 
learned, or, properly speaking, knew, anything himself. He had a 
smattering, like Lord Brougham, of the science of his age; of the 
one chancellor it might be said, as it has been of the other “ if he 
had known a little law he would then have known a little of every¬ 
thing.” But I crave his lordship’s pardon—his, now I remember, was 
a nobler mission,—not to toil, himself, amidst laboratory fumes, 
forges and furnaces, but to direct others how to toil; to survey and 
lay out great leading paths of investigation; to take a vast compre¬ 
hensive view of the whole field of science, and allot the laborers 
their tasks. This man, then, living in an age of extraordinary in¬ 
tellectual and experimental activity,—shortly after Galileo had de¬ 
monstrated the true solar and planetary motions, and Kepler had 
fixed their laws—after the telescope, and the mariner’s compass, and 
the printing-press had been invented (and all without the organ- 
urn)—this smattering chancellor, who never himself discovered any¬ 
thing, except his law, is supposed to have shown quite a new way, 
given quite a fresh impulse and a worthy aim tg “ philosophy.” I 
want the evidence: but there is none. Therefore I dogmatically 
affirm that no chemist, no geologist, no mechanist, physician, as¬ 
tronomer, engineer, or other “ philosopher,” ever since Bacon’s day, 
in any investigation or series of experiments, thought once of the 
instanticc, or the vindemice, or any of the other uncouth verbiage 
which makes up that preposterous book. I affirm further, that of 
those men who have really carried forward science and the arts, not 
one in forty ever read that book,—that of those who read it not one 
in forty understood it.—and that of those who understood it, not one 
at all made use of it. 


GOOD NIGIIT, NINETEENTH CENTURY. 53 

Hereupon the essayist, you may bo sure, would tell me that 
although indeed they did not read, understand or value the teachings 
of that book, or know the things treated of therein by Bacon’s names, 
yet they did pursue their inquiries, and conduct their experiments 
with due regard to the very instantke of the Organum, and gather 
in their vintages by the very process our great teacher taught—yes, 
they did so, just as Tubalcain and Daedalus, Archimedes, Aristotle, 
Columbus and Kepler did before them, and not otherwise. 

What Lord Bacon really did then, the whole result and upshot of 
his teaching—if anything at all—was this—to cause mechanical 
ingenuity and experimental or empiric investigations into the laws 
of bodies, (with a sole view to use and comfort) to be substituted for 
Philosophy and dignified with that venerable name. And the popu¬ 
lar Essayist, not being an ill-informed man, nor behind, nor before 
his age, acknowledges that this is what Bacon did, and pronounces 
that he did well. 

Now I am tired of Macaulay and his Essays, and see with surprise 
that I have filled up some ten pages with a tirade against him. 
ne is, after all, a very clever and dexterous artificer in words ; one 
of the deftest of the nineteenth century. His Lay of Horatius, and 
his ballad of Naseby might be imposed at first upon anybody, for 
poems, for true Song. I took them for such myself not long ago : 
but the thing is impossible. 

“ And what’s impossible can’t be, 

And never, never, comes to pass.” 

It has grown intolerably hot: and there is no escape : not a breath 
of cool air can any longer be won, for the calm is like death, and 
the sea, burnished as a brazen mirror, flashes back fiercely the glare 
of the ardent sun, as if we were between two fiery furnaces. The 
little pennon of slender feathers, set up on the ship’s quarter, though 
we are steaming eight knots an hour, hangs straight against its shaft. 
The fat sergeant wipes the sweat from his brow. The water is hot in 

the tank_the wine hot in the bottles, and the sea-water, with solution 

of gunpowder will cool it no longer. What true philosopher will 
teach man to cool his wine, without ice, under a tropic sun? Not a 
sail on the sea ; nor a wing in the sky ; nor anything to indicate that 
this wondrous ocean is not shoreless. What if we have missed Ber¬ 
muda? No matter; I have no objection to circumnavigate the 


54 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


globe. But tlie sailing-master, for his part, seems pretty confident 
that to-morrow, about mid-day, we shall make the islands. 

20th. —Bermuda! About ten o’clock to-day, after the amber 
morning mist had lifted itself from the sea, the man at the mast-head 
sung out “ Land!” It was the first land visible since leaving Ireland, 
and every one was eager for a glimpse of it. I looked ahead more 
curiously than any one else ; having at present more interest in Ber¬ 
muda than my shipmates have. Soon it became visible from the top 
of the paddle-box; several low “ hummocks ” of land, sharply 
defined against the sky and quite near to us ; for no point of Bermuda 
is more than 180 feet high, and it cannot be seen until you are almost 
upon it. Half an hour more and we lay-to for a pilot: presently a 
boat came off: the boatmen were mulattoes, with palmetto hats; the 
pilot himself an utter negro. Soon we passed the dangerous entrance 
that lies between the easternmost island (crowned by a battery of 
Carthaginian cannon) and a great reef that bounds the archipelago 
on the north ; and then we coasted along two of the largest islands 
for about ten miles, and had a near view of the land, the houses and 
the people. Almost with glasses we might have inspected the domes¬ 
tic arrangements through their open doors. There is a thick popula¬ 
tion all along here : their houses are uniformly white, both walls and 
roof, but uncomfortable-looking for the want of chimneys; the cook¬ 
ing-house being usually a small detached building. The rocks, 
wherever laid bare (except those long washed by the sea), are white 
or cream-colored. The whole surface of all the islands is made up 
of hundreds of low hillocks, many of them covered with a pitiful 
scraggy brush of cedars 5 and cedars are their only tree. The land 
not under wood, is of a brownish green color, and of a most naked 
and arid, hungry and thirsty visage. No wonder: for not one single 
stream, not one spring, rill, or well, gushes, trickles, or bubbles in 
all the three hundred isles, with their three thousand hills. The hills 
arc too low, and the land too narrow, and all the rock is a porous 
calcareous concretion, which drinks up all the rain that falls on it, 
and would driuk ten times as much, and be thirsty afterwards. 
Heavens! what a burned and blasted country. 

“ Where never fountain or fresh current flowed 
Against the eastern ray, translucent, pure, 

With touch ethereal of heaven’s fiery rod !” 

The people, it seems, have to bo assiduous in catching the rain ; 


BERMUDA. 


55 


cunning in spouts and tanks 5 and their stone is at any rate good for 
filtering water when they have it. I oan sec no cultivation of any 
sort, except some gardens; and there is very little of the land 
cultivated at all. On the whole, this place hears to my eyes an 
unkindly and foreign aspect 5 and as we coasted along here mile after 
mile, and saw nothing but the small hills and shrubby cedars, and 
parched soil, I thought with keen desiderium upon our own green 
Bauba of Streams. In that hour’s sailing I could not help con¬ 
tinually murmuring to myself— 

“ A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer, 

Ullagone dhu, oh t 

Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear, 

Ullagone dhu, oh! 

There is honey in the trees, where her misty vales expand, 

And the forest-paths in summer are by falling waters fanned, 

There is dew at high noontide there, and springs in the yellow sand, 

On the fair hills of holy Ireland.” 

But after all, these are fertile and fine islands ; they bring forth 
and nourish thousands of creatures to all appearance human ; have 
two towns even 5 cities of articulate-speaking men, one of them being 
the seat of government and “ legislature have a dock-yard, two 
barracks, two newspapers, absolute “ organs of opinion ” (with 
editors, I suppose, puffs, and other appurtenances); what is better, 
have abundance of fruit, vegetables, and fish ; and I can see some 
cows, and plenty of goats, pigs, poultry. Verily the land is a good 
land. It was here, amongst these very cedars, that noster George 
Berkeley desired to establish a missionary college, with a view to 
convert red Americans to Christianity, and gave up his fat deanery 
of Derry that he might take up house here as Principal of his college 
at £100 a-year. The English minister (Sir Robert Walpole I think) 
promised a grant of £20,000 for that college ; and on the strength of 
this promise Berkeley left Derry, went to New England, where he 
stayed a year, expecting the grant and charter, soliciting, objurgating, 
reminding, remonstrating—till his heart was nearly broken, and then 
he came home to Ireland, almost in despair. Good man ! he little 
knew what a plague ministers thought him, with his missionary 
colleges ; they had quite another plan for the conversion of the red 

people_to convert them, namely, into red humus. But they gave 

George a bishopric at Cloyne, and there he philosophized and fiddled 
till he died. It was to Bermuda, also, that Prospero, on a certain 


56 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


night, sent his Ariel “ to fetch dew.” Albeit, one might hardly know 
thege isles for the still-vexed Bermoothes, for they lie sleeping on 
the glassy sea to-day, as tranquil as an infant on its mother’s bosom. 

And was it not here, too, that ‘‘metaphysical” Waller, having 
transported himself hither to shun the evil days, dreamed his 
“Dream of the Summer Islands?” and has not Moore, also, sung 
these cedars ? Bermuda, then, has its associations ; is even classical 
in fact, is appearontly a genuine fragment of the flowery Earth, peer¬ 
ing above the Atlantic flood here. At any rate, it is habitable 5 and 
truly, if I am to be allowed some moderate liberty here, say the 
range of one of the islands, I might bring out all my flock, and we 
could cultivate arrow-root, oranges, and potatoes, dwelling primi¬ 
tively in a whito-roofed cottage, with the sea in front, and a forest 
of cedar behind. This might be; possibly the “ instructions,” the 
sealed orders Captain Wingrove carries out, may admit of such an 
arrangement. The climate is said to be somewhat unhealthy; but 
my little ones would surely grow strong in the vital sunshine, and 
so we might hybernate (cestivate) here, until either the term assigned 
me by my kidnappers is past, or some “ reason of state” (for Bri¬ 
tish statesmanship is deep, deep) shall come to set me free. 

At last we arrived at the anchorage in front of the government is¬ 
land, where the dockyard is established. This island is at the extreme 
northwest of the whole group, and its name is nothing less than Ire¬ 
land. On one side of us, as we come to anchor, lies the huge trans- 
Atlantic steam-junk, “Great Western;” on the other side we find 
ourselves under the guns of a stately linc-of-battle ship of seventy four 
guns, with the square red flag at the mast-head denoting that she carries 
an admiral. A small government steamer is moving about in the bay ; 
the dock, or camber, sheltered by its breakwater, has several ships lying 
in it, and scores of boats, of a peculiar and most graceful rig, are 
flying in all directions—so that the scene is a very lively one to those 
who have been three weeks in the solitudes of the ocean. 

This admiral, whose station includes the West Indies and North 
America, I find to be no other than the old Lord Cochrane—or Lord 
Dundonald, as they call him now—the very man who cut out the 
Esmeralda from the roads of Callao—the Chilian admiral under 
^ the Greek navarch under the Congress of Epidaurus—• 

vho has sworn more oaths of allegiance to revolutionary provisional 
governments than any living man—who has been fighting the 
aquatic half of wars of independence all over the terraqueous globe, 


THE 


‘‘queen’s own.” 


57 


from his youth up. I have no doubt, however, that he regards Irish 
revolutionists as highly immoral characters. 

The evening has been delicious, and I have spent it, until sunset, 
chatting on deck with the officers, and surveying the islands around 
through a glass. Ireland island seems a strong fortress. A liand-^ 
some range of buildings crowns the hill in the middle of the island 5 
this is a barrack, with government storehouses adjoining, all having 
arched and bomb-proof roofs. In front of this the hill is deeply 
scarped, down to the level of the dockyard } and in rear, the slope 
is cut into terraces mounted with cannon. The barrack hill commu¬ 
nicates, by a long, sweeping line of fortifications, with another hill 
on the extreme north of the island, which is occupied with other 
government-buildings, and surrounded by powerful batteries. In the 
crescent formed by all these works, to the eastuaid, is the na\al 
dock-yard, with its stores, offices, and wet dock. Some of these are 
vast and sumptuous buildings. 

There is no such naval establishment as this in Ireland I mean 
t’other Ireland, The Carthaginians have always taken good care of 
that. 

Inside the camber I see moored three great clumsy hulks, roofed 
over, and peopled by men in white linen blouses and straw hats,— 
and on the back of every man’s blouse, certain characters and figuics, 
and the queen’s broad arrow. They seem to be drilled and marched 
like troops. Now am I to be enlisted in these rueful squadrons, and 
marked for the queen's own these fourteen years to come?-I trust 
not. But if it be so, be it so. 

The sun has gone down, “ like battle target red, behind 10 
cedars. The skimming Bermudian boats* with their black crews of 
marketmen and washerwomen, have vanished under the dusxy 
shores. The flag-ship has fired her evening gun 5 and I have retired, 
for the last time, to my cabin on board the “ Scourge. ’ I ie ° a P am 
has reported himself and his errand to the admiral: the admiral has 
communicated with the Governor :-to-morrow, I will know my 
appointed home. 


3 * 


r>8 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


I 


CHAPTER III. 

An English Steamer—The Morning Post —Edmund Burke Roche—The “ Irish 
Felon’’—Handed over to a Man in Blue—Receipt taken—Hospitalities of the 
“Dromedary”—Genesis and Growth of the Bermudas—Description of my Cell 
—Precautions against Mutiny—Removed to an Hospital-ship for ten days—Back 
again—The Devil’s Acre, or Cemetery of Cut-throats—Sympathy in New York— 
Precautions at Bermuda against an American Squadron—Prison Biography—• 
Suicide, pro and contra —The 42d Highlanders—Discipline—Letter from Ireland. 

June 21st, 1848 .—Still on Board the “ Scourge” Bermuda. — 
Another steamer appeared to-day in the northeastern channel 
—another of the great West India packets, two of 'which rendez¬ 
vous here at Bermuda once a fortnight. Her deck was swarming wuth 
passengers, male and female, as she came to her moorings beside us. 
She left Southampton on the 2d of June, and brings London papers 
up to that date. Our second lieutenant instantly boarded her as 
officer on guard, and brought back two or three papers; and as I had 
seen none later than the 2Gth June, I was glad to get a glance even 
at the Morning Post. The leading article is about “ the convict 
Mitchel,” who is pronounced by that authority to be not only a con¬ 
vict but a scoundrel. What was more interesting to me, I found Sir 
George Grey’s reply to a question in Parliament, as to whether my 
sentence would be executed. “ Her Majesty’s government had sent 
instructions to Ireland, that the convict Mitchel’s sentence should be 
fully carried out.” Infinite and inscrutable is the stupidity of mortal 
man!—the question was put by Edmund Burke Roche, and was to 
this effect,—Whether the government would really carry out to the 
full extent “ the unjust and disproportionate sentence ” pronounced 
in my case? Blockhead !—the sentence was neither unjust nor dis¬ 
proportionate, if I had been tried and found guilty ,—the nature of 
the trial, not the severity of the sentence, is the thing calling for 
explanation and inquiry, and to that Edmund Burke made no 


59 


“the I E IS n FELON.” 

allusion. Of course the minister in his reply takes care to rebuke 
the questioner, and properly too, for calling a sentence “ regularly 
pronounced in due course of law,” unjust and disproportionate. Can 
legislatorial helplessness sink any lower than this? 

But what I find most interesting of all in this paper is in the column 
headed Ireland ”—to wit, the prospectus of the Irish Felon, weekly 
newspaper, signed by Reilly and Martin, established to preach the 
doctrine of “ Convict Mitchel,” and to extend and promote the sacred 
principle of Irish Felony. This is very good, and cannot end badly ; 
it will force the Carthaginians upon more and more decided efforts 
of vigor, that is to say, more and more outrageous atrocities of law¬ 
less tyranny ; it will compel all Lamartinesque politicians to become 
“ felons,” or else say at once they meant no revolution ; it will rouse 
attention to the struggle, and to the true meaning of the struggle ; it 
will induce more and more of the people to get arms; it will strip 
British Whiggery bare of his treacherous, conciliatory, liberal lambs- 
wool, and show him gnashing his teeth like a ravening beast (for no 
brute is so ferocious as your frightened capitalist); it will silence all 
talk of “ law,” and shiver to atoms the “ last plank of the Constitution ” 
—leaving Ireland as naked of all law and government (save the 
bayonet) as on the day when she first rose from the sea—as plainly 
and notoriously naked of law and government (save the bayonet) as 
she has been really and effectually these fifty years. At last she 
cannot but know that she is naked—pray God she be ashamed! 
Then, if the Irish people will obey British bayonets, I say again, from 
my heart, let them obey and be damned ! 

To be sure, Reilly and Martin will be seized without delay, their 
paper stopped, themselves “ tried,” as the phrase is, and probably 
transported ; for an insulted government cannot stand this. And 
Meagher, Duffy, O’Gorman, O’Brien, Dillon, some or all of them, may 
follow. No matter ; better men have been starved to death by hun¬ 
dreds and thousands. 

I know very well that this whole idea and scheme of mine wears a 
wonderfully feeble and silly aspect in the eyes of statesmanlike revolu¬ 
tionists ; they can see nothing more in it than a number of gentlemen 
agreeing to dash out their own brains, one after another, against a 
granite fortress, with the notion that they are laying desperate siege 
to- it. These statesmanlike politicians say to us—that we should wait 
till we are stronger—that we should conspire and organize in secret , 
keeping under the shelter of the law for the present—that when 


CO 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


plainly advising men to arm is made a “ transportable offence,” we 
should no longer plainly advise, but exhort and influence them 
privately, until &c., &c. Wait till your principles take root before 
you desseminate them , said a prudent adviser to me. But he who talks 
thus knows nothing of Ireland. In Ireland there can be no secresy, 
so thick is it planted with castle-spies:—In Ireland you can never 
organize to any useful purpose, so long as they are so miserably 
cowed by “law,” and see nobody willing to deny and defy this law :— 
in Ireland no private influence can make men procure arms, because 
they have been taught for forty years, to account arms not honorable 
and needful, but criminal and illegal$ and if you spoke to them about 
arms in their own houses or fields, they would, perhaps, give you up 
at the nearest police-barrack, as a “ ribbonman ”—so they have been 
instructed, poor fellows, by priest and agitator. How then are we to 
get stronger by waiting? Are we not getting weaker, baser, more 
cowardly, more beggarly, the longer we wait? No ; we must try the 
virtue of plain, out-spoken, desperate Truth for once : we must openly 
glorify Arms, until young Irishmen burn to handle them and try their 
temper ;—and this we must do in defiance of “ Law,” and the more 
diligently that London-laws are expressly made against it. We must, 
in short, make final -protest against this same “ Law ”—deny that it is 
Law, deny that there is any power in the London Parliament to make 
laws for us, and declare that as a just God ruleth in the earth we will 
obey such laws no longer. I think there will be found some virtue 
in this statesmanship of mine, if men still grow in Ireland:—at any 
rate I know no better.- 

At four o’clock this evening (as I was informed by means of a note 
to Capt. Wingrove from the admiral) a boat was to come off to the 
ship for me : therefore I made ready my portmanteau. Several of 
the officers, whose names I will not write here (but shall not forget), 
judging correctly that wherever I should be stowed away I should 
want books, and knowing that I had no opportunity of providing 
such things before my kidnapping, begged I would allow them to 
give me a few volumes out of their store. This was genuine kindli¬ 
ness of heart; and as I have no quarrel with these gentlemen per¬ 
sonally, I took from four of them, one book from each. I have never 
found it easy, on a sudden, to haughtily repel any attention offered 
out of pure good will: it is not in me. Yet I believe that if time 
for consideration had been given me, I would have refused the 
courtesy of these decent fellows. What! shall I, I John Mitchel, 



handed oyer to a man in blue. G1 

accept presents, almost eleemosynary presents from officers of the 
Queen of England ? But I am glad that I had not time for exaspe¬ 
rating reflections. Four o’clock came, and two boats approached, 
straight from the dock-yard, and pulled by men in the white blouses. 
The Hulks then!—no sea-side cottages or cedarn valleys for me —& 
foutrance, then, Gaffer Bull! 

Three men came on board the “ Scourge.” One, a tall elderly 
gentleman in a blue naval coat, announced himself as superintendent 
of convicts ; another was commander of one of the hulks ; the third 
a medical officer. Few words passed. Capt. Wingrove took a 
receipt for my body (on which it became the property of the man in 
blue) and bade me farewell with good wishes. Two of the officers 
stood at the gangway ; and as I stepped forward to descend the lad¬ 
der, shook me warmly by the hand. We were pulled straight for the 
innermost of the three hulks, and in a few minutes I found myself 
on the quarter-deck. The superintendent then informed me that I 
was, for the present, to wear my own attire, and not to be sent out 
upon the works. I nodded. He then asked, “ Have you any money ?” 
“ A few shillings.” “ Any credit in the colony ?” “ None.” lie 

called the chief mate of the ship to him, and said : “ Take Mitchel’s 
money, and place it to his credit.” The mate, a tall old man with 
grey hair, looked at me dubiously, as if he thought me a novel species 
of convict, and did not exactly know how to proceed. So I took out 
my tricolor purse—“Here friend,” I said, and emptied all I had into 
his hand. “Now,” said the superintendent, “you will find that 
nobody here has any disposition to add to the annoyances you must 
suffer—no severity of any kind will be used towards you—provided 
you are amenable to the rules of the place.” I nodded. “Espe¬ 
cially,” he added, “ it is my duty to tell you that you are to have no 
connection with public affairs, or politics, and are not to attempt to 
tamper with any of the prisoners on board.” I answers, that I 
could hardly expect to be permitted here, to take part in public 
affairs ; and that I desired to have as little intercourse with the 
prisoners on board as possible. 

The mate then said he would show' me where I was to be lodged ; 
I followed him down a ladder to the half-deck, and there, in the very 
centre of the ship, opening from a dark passage, appeared a sort of 
cavern, just a little higher and a little wider than a dog-house ; it is, 
in fact, the very hole through which the main-mast formerly ran 
down into the ship, and would be quite dark but for two very small 


02 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


and dim bulls’-eyes that arc set into the deck above. I cannot stand 
quite erect under the great beams that used to hold the main-mast 
in its place 5 but half of my floor is raised nine inches, and on that 
part 1 cannot stand at all. The whole area is about six feet square, 
and on the lower part I have a promenade of two steps ( grcuius ), 
making one pace ( passus ). When I entered, the cavern had, for 
furniture, one wooden stool. “ Here’s your place,” said the mate. 
“ Very well,” quoth I, sitting down upon the stool, and stretching 
out my feet to the corners of my apartment. So the mate and I 
looked at one another for a minute. “1 suppose,” suggested I, “ that 
I can have my portmanteau here ?” He did not know yet, but would 
ask. He went away, and presently my portmanteau was sent to me, 
and a message with it, that if I wished to walk on deck or on the 
breakwater alongside I might do so. Very glad to avail myself of 
the offer, as my dog-house was intolerably close, I went up and had 
a walk on the pier. Soon the “ gangs ” of prisoners began to come 
in from the works, and it was intimated to me that I had better 
retire. A hammock was then brought into my dog-hutch ; and in 
order to make room for it, they had to swing it diagonally. A cup 
of milkless tea, and a lump of bread •were then brought me ; and 
when I had dispatched these, a piece of candle was left upon a 
narrow board or shelf projecting from the wall, and my door was 
locked. The light of the candle showed me a great many big brown 
cockroaches, nearly two inches long, running with incredible speed 
over the walls and floor, the sight of which almost turned me sick, 
t sat down upon my bench, and deliberately reviewed my position. 
They have not taken the books from me, nor my portmanteau : they 
have not even searched it, or me ; nor taken this scribbling-book 
away, nor put me in company with the convicts. This is all good : 
but to-morrow may show me more. And what is the worst it can 
show me ? Why, to be arrayed in a linen blouse and trousers, with 
my name and number and the queen’s arrow stamped thereon, and 
to be marched to the quarries with pick-axe or crowbar in my hand. 
Very well: my health now, I thank God, is good ; I have hands, like 
other men : I am covered with my own skin, and stand upon my own 
feet, being a plantigrade mammal, and also happily, rather pachy¬ 
dermatous. Let to-morrow come then. As for my ctbg-hutch, the 
mate muttered something, before he left me, about another and 
better place being made ready for me in a few days. And for these 
huge brown beasts crawling here, I presume they don’t bite : other 


GENESIS OF BERMUDA, 


63 


people sleep amongst them, and -why not I ? A bath in the morning, 
off the pier, will wash the sordes of the dog-hutch from about me. 

Here goe3, then, for my first swing in a hammock—and I feel my¬ 
self a freer man to-night than any Irishman living at large, tran¬ 
quilly in his native land, making believe that he fancies himself a 
respectable member of society. 

23d .—Bathed luxuriously in the sea ; though I had to rise at half¬ 
past four that my bath might be over before the gangs turned out to 
work. Walked about a good deal on deck, which is pleasanter than 
the breakwater, as it is sheltered from the sun, though open to the 
air on both sides. It commands a view of the dock, the shipping, 
barracks, and batteries at one side, and at the other the wide 
anchorage, and u Grassy Bay,” with a great number of the islands 
beyond. They are all of the same height, garniture, and aspect, as 
far as the eye can reach. I think Bermuda is but young; it has 
pushed its hillocks up so high, and will undoubtedly grow bigger and 
better as it grows older. Plainly these rocks were part of the sea¬ 
bed not long ago ; and they seem to me exactly like the land that is 
forming itself, saith Lyell, round the head of the Adriatic—the river 
sands, in short, and sea-sands, so soon as they are deposited, glued 
together, along with shells, pebbles, and the like, by a hard lime- 
cement,—and so, gradually, by help of nether fires, rising and becoming 
dry land. Bermuda, I see is all made of the very same shelly con¬ 
crete ; and, without doubt, was heaved up to its present height in 
some volcanic paroxysm of the uneasy West Indian regions. And 
some future g'amo of the playful earthquakes may give these islands 
a fresh impulse, and raise a peak or two into the clouds, to win some 
drops of gracious moisture there and send them down in rills of living 
water. Then will Bermudians hear, for the first time, the murmur 
of a running brook, and see a miraculous “ fountain of black water” 
gushing from the heart of their arid hills: their tiny valleys will 
clothe themselves in a robe of daintier green, and the development 
of the country will be as good as perfect. So, lor aught I know to 
the contrary, your islands and continents are born and bred. 

1 observe to-day that great care is taken to keep me from all com¬ 
munication with the prisoners, to my very great contentment. The 
half-deck, where my dog-house is, seems to be reserved for the cabins 
and pantries of the mates, the surgeon and steward, and has no com¬ 
munication below with the fore part of the ship. Several prisoners 
are kept here in the capacity of servants, and one of them is assigned 


64 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


to attend upon mo. For so far I have not been interfered with in 
any way as to my disposal of my time, and read or walk, just as it 
suits me ; only when the prisoners are coming in for their meals, and 
while they are on board, I am expected to seclude myself. I do 
whatever I am bidden, at once and without remark, which seems to 
surprise my keepers a little. They did not expect me to be so quiet; 
and ascribing my conduct in Ireland, of course, to- mere turbulence 
of disposition, and general insubordination of character, the com¬ 
mander has evidently some distrust of my extreme passiveness and 
submissiveness—he thinks it is all my deepness. 

23c?.—As I sauntered to-day on the quarter-deck, with a book in 
my hand, two officers of the “ Scourge ” came to visit me. They had 
to deliver in their names and quality first, to be written down in a 
book; for I am given to understand that none but officers of the navy 
or army are to be allowed the privilege of visiting me. In that case, 
I shall have but little company, as my acquaintances in the United 
Service are few. 

I was well pleased to see, even for a short time, the faces of 
unhulked people. 

25th — Sunday .—Service on deck: the prisoners, all in clean 
frocks and trousers, arranged on forms over the deck forward ; the 
guards and mates on the quarter-deck, amongst whom I had a seat 
apart. I attended service for a little variety ; also to see what kind 
of chaplain we have. After service the chaplain came to me: he 
politely offered to lend me books, and even to procure me books from 
others. I rather like the man : he did not cant, as so many of those 
persons do, but seemed really desirous of serving me, so far as the 
rules would allow him. He is a Scotchman. 

20>th .—I have been installed in my new cabin, or cell; it is five 
feet wide, six feet high, and fourteen feet long—has a table, a chair, 
a basin-stand, but above all, has a window, that is a porthole, two 
feet and a half square, which, though heavily barred and cross-barred, 
gives plenty of light and air, as there is a glass lattice which opens 
and shuts. There are also two shelves for books, and the place is 
perfectly clean. This is a great improvement upon the dog-house. 

I have observed that all the guards and officers of the ship, all the 
servants, and all persons who remain about the place by day, em¬ 
ployed as boatmen and otherwise, are every man of them English. 
Was told by [must write no names here] that before I left the 
Scourge, all the Irish in this hulk, to the number of 80 or 90, Lad 


REMOVED TO T II E nOSPITAL. 


65 


been removed to another, and their places filled up with Englishmen 
and Scotchmen. 

The fools are actually afraid that I will stir patriotic mutinies here. 

29 th .—The commander came to me to-day, to inform me that I am 
to be removed to the hospital-ship. “ Hospital-ship! why, I am quite 
well.” “ An order,” said he, “ has come from the Governor: you 
are to be removed in a boat this afternoon.” Shortly after, the medical 
officer, Dr. Warner, came in. “ What’s the meaning,” I asked, “ of 
sending me to an hospital—I am not an invalid?” No matter, he 
said, it would be a change greatly for the better, as regarded my 
comfort. He added that ho understood the reason of the order to be 
a report made by the surgeon of the “ Scourge.” (I forgot to record 
in its proper place, that I had on the voyage a rather severe fit of 
asthma, which the surgeon thought it his duty to certify to the Medi¬ 
cal Superintendent here). Accordingly, I have been removed ; and 
but that I dislike beiug treated as an hospital patient, the change is 
certainly for the better. The “ Tenedos,” wiiich is used as an hos¬ 
pital, is a larger, newer, and cleaner ship than the “ Dromedary,” my 
first abode : and she is moored about a quarter of a mile from land, 
in a most beautiful bay, or basin, formed by well-wooded islands, and 
far out of sight of the prison-hulks and the batteries. My cabin is 
a neat room, with two windows, and without any bars at all. The 
commander of this ship is Dr. Hall, a kindly old gentleman, who has 
been a good deal in Ireland, and knows several persons that I also 
know. He seems to imagine that I am very “ unhappy,” and am 
always making vigorous efforts to conceal the circumstance ;—he 
never was more mistaken in his life—however, he is well-disposed to 
make me as happy as he can. If an Englishman wishes to be kind to 
any individual, his first thought is to feed him well: the foundation 
of all British happiness is victual; therefore, the steward has had 
special orders about my table. In truth, I do begin to set more store 
by that matter of dining than I ever thought I should. Tender 
Naso, in his captivity, hated the hour of dinner ; or poetice pretends 
he did. I do not believe him ; when one is cut off from all his ordi¬ 
nary occupation and environment, dinner is the great event of his 
day. If they keep me here many months, living all alone, and sup¬ 
ply me with sapid viands, I shudder to think what an overwhelming 
moment dinner-time may become to me : how I will tear my victuals 
like a wild beast, gorge them in my solitary cavern, and then lie 
down to doze until next feeding-time. Infandum / 


66 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


Sometimes I put myself to the question about it—how cau I eat 
thus heartily of British convict rations ?—sleep thus calmly on a 
felon’s iron bed?—receive in gracious-wise the courtesies of Cartha¬ 
ginian gaolers, looking my black Destiny so placidly in the face ? 
By heaven ! it cannot be but I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall to 
make oppression bitter. Go to—I will lash myself into suitable rage. 
But it will not do. The next time old Dr. Hall comes in, with his 
grey hairs and good old weather-beaten countenance, and begins to 
talk, my armor of sullen pride will fall to pieces : the human heart 
that, I suppose, is in me will know its brother, and I will find myself 
quietly conversing with that old man, as friend with friend. 

July 4th. —The mail steamer from the West Indies has just 
arrived, on her way to England ; so I have written to my wife, 
giving a long account of my voyage, and my w r ay of life here. Can¬ 
not have her answer, at soonest before the 19th of August. 

9th — Sunday. —Service on deck as usual. The chaplain, w r ho 
came down to my cabin after service, tells me he performs service at 
all the hulks and the hospital too. He darts about in a fast-sailing 
boat; rattles over our beautiful liturgy four times ; preaches either 
twice or three times, giving himself about half an hour to take 
breath and dinner, and steers his bark homew r ard in the evening. 
The chaplain had left me about half an hour, and I was sitting at an 
open window reading Livy and drinking grog, beginning, indeed, to 
feel myself at home in the Tenedos—for I have been ten days on 
board—when Dr. Hall entered my cabin in a violent hurry, accompa¬ 
nied by a negro boatmen. “An order to remove you,” he said, 
“ directly.” “ Where now, sir ?” I asked. “ Oh! back to the Drome¬ 
dary. The commander of the Dromedary has come in his ow r n boat, 
bringing the governor’s order ; and this man will carry your port¬ 
manteau upon deck. I am very sorry,” he continued, “ and cannot 
guess the reason, but you must go.” I had by this time thrust my 
books and everything belonging to me into my box; and in five 
minutes more I was on my way back to Ireland Island. 

Wo passed close by a piece of ground on this island neatly laid 
out as a graveyard. The commander seeing me looking at it, 
informed me that it was the convict cemetery ; for convicts, when 
they die. are not suffered to repose in church-yards by the side of 
corpses that take their ease in consecrated ground. I looked now 
still more curiously at the cemetery, and cannot say that I liked it. I 
have a respect for my own body, and wish that it may mingle with 


SYMPATHY IN NEW YORK. 


67 


earth, if not in consecrated ground, at least not in unblessed com¬ 
pany. Yet, it is far from improbable that in this small inclosure 
between the sea and the cedars my bones will rest at last. The com¬ 
mander tells me there is, at some seasons, wonderful mortality on 
board these hulks; that in the first summer of their abode here, 
many are carried off by dysentery ; and that sometimes they perish 
in hundreds by the West Indian.yellow fever. I kept gazing at the 
cemetery until a point of land hid it from my sight, and as I turned 
my head away, I shivered. 

Half an hour’s sailing brought me to my cell on board the Drome¬ 
dary. Asked the commander if he knew the meaning of this last 
movement, but he professed to know nothing, except that a special 
express from Halifax (where the admiral is now) had arrived this 
morning to the Governor. 

Heard, however, a full explanation of it from [Anonymous] 
When the Irish in New York heard of my conviction and deportation 
they made some demonstrations; and even threatened (words being 
cheap) to equip a vessel, or for that matter, I believe, a squadron, to 
rescue me. I learn further, that the Government surveying-steamer 
is forthwith to have her bulwarks pierced for guns, and to be armed 
as heavily as she can bear ; and other formidable precautions are to 
be taken. In the meantime, the retired bay where the hospital-ship 
lies is not judged so secure a residence for me as this little well- 
grated cell, under the muzzles of the battery guns. 

10//j.—E verybody looks mysteriously at me to-day when I go up 
to walk on deck. They think they have got a troublesome shipmate 
on board ; and the authorities look very determined. But I take 
notice of nothing, address nobody, am addressed by nobody, and 
walk about as before without any interference. Martial preparations 
are observable ; workmen busy cutting ports in the steamer, right 
opposite my window: further off, along the top of the fortifications, 
a line of tents pitched, where, as I hear, the troops are to sleep at 
night for a time. All this is a little amusing to me. 

14^4.—Making myself at home in my den here, so far as circum¬ 
stances will admit. A cot, instead of a hammock, has been provided 
for me, and Dr. Hall has sent two or three other small matters of 
convenience ; also, a good-natured man, named Black, who tells me 
he is commander of the ‘‘Medway,” the largest of these hulks, has 
lent me some books, and told me (taking care, however, to speak to 
me in presence of the “ first mate ”) that he has a great quantity of 


68 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


miscellaneous material in the nature of books, which he will be happy 
to lend me from time to time. 

With all these appliances, both for bodily health and mental dissi¬ 
pation, with liberty to write for, and receive any books I please from 
home (except political periodicals), with sufficient space to exercise 
in the fresh sea-air, with abundance of good food, and a constant 
supply of fresh water, and paper, and pens; with all these further¬ 
ances, I have been considering whether it would be possible to live 
here for some indefinite number of years, or even for the whole four¬ 
teen, should nothing happen to cut them short. And why not? 
Major Bernardi lived forty years in Newgate 5 but then he had his 
wife and family always with him ; and, except for the mere accident 
of locomotion, was as much in the world as anybody outside. The 
Earl of Northumberland lived fifteen years in the Tower in the time 
of James the First; but then he had leave to correspond with all the 
learned men of Europe about astronomy; had the White Tower, I 
suppose for an observatory; no restrictions as to communicating with 
whom he pleased ; and, I daresay, everything handsome about him. 
James the First of Scotland, indeed, was imprisoned eighteen or 
twenty years in Windsor Castle ; but, to be sure, he had plenty of 
society, and a duchess to make love to, which would make a great 
difference. None of these cases is like mine. The Man in the Iron 
Mask is more to the purpose : He wore away all his weary days in 
close confinement. Delatude, also, the Bastile prisoner, ought to en¬ 
courage me ; he lived thirty-seven years in most rigorous imprison¬ 
ment, and emerged (see the Duchess D’Abrantes) a fine hale old 
gentleman at last. I forget how long Tasso was kept in the mad¬ 
house ; but Silvio Pellico was ten years in the Austrian dungeons. 
Bonnivard was six years in Chillon, a most uncomfortable place ; and 
Raleigh thirteen years in the Tower of London. Who else ? Balue, 
the founder of the great Evreux Cathedral, was kept by Louis XI., 
twelve years in a loathsome den; and I find, from the Book of Kings, 
that Jehoiachim, King of Judah, lay in a Babylonian dungeon 
thirty-seven years. I wish I had books and materials here to collect 
a hand-book of prison biography, for encouragement to myself if I 
should hereafter chance to need it. Fourteen years are a long time ; 
yet they will assuredly pass. I have nothing to do but keep myself 
alive and wait. 

Suicide I have duly considered and perpended, and deliberately 
decided against, for reasons which I will here set down in order, so 


SUICIDE,—PRO AND CONTRA- G 9 

that I may have them to refer to, if that method of solution become 
a question with me hereafter 5 for alas! I know that in fourteen 
years will be many a dreary day, many a weary night; and sickness 
and deadly tadium will fall heavily down upon my soul; and often 
the far-off end of my days of sorrow will be clean out of my sight 
for the thick clouds that will seem closing around me, veiling all my 
horizon in the blackness of darkness. Ah! long years in a lonely 
dungeon are no light thing to the stoutest heart; not to be laughed 
at by any means ; not to be turned back or got rid of, or made to 
pass merrily as marriage-bell by any system of jesting, or moralizingj 
or building up of sentences, philosophic or jocular, for onc : s private 
edification or ghastly solitary laughter. And the way of escape will 
be always near me and often tempting;— 7 tis but opening a door, but 
touching a spring, and the fardel of my life is cast down, and the 
black bars vanish from between me and yonder setting sun. Yet 
will I not lay hand upon my own life, for tlie reasons here fol¬ 
lowing :— 

First. Because I should, in such case, be a conspirator with 
Baron Lefroy, the Sheriff of Dublin, and the ministers of England, 
against my ow r n name and fame. Their parliament and their sheriff 
may nickname me “ felon,” but if I, in despair, thereupon rush to 
my death, I will own myself a felon indeed, and send my children 
scandalized to their graves, as the children of a self-convicted crimi¬ 
nal and despairing suicide. 

Second. Because, having engaged in this undertaking with full 
knowledge that this imprisonment might, and probably would be the 
end of it for me, suicide now would be a mean and cowardly con¬ 
fession that the consequence of my owrn acts, I find upon trial, to be 
more than I can bear. 

Third. Because, whereas lam now employed in carrying forward 
that undertaking, I trust to a happy issue ; if I kill myself, I not only 
desist from the whole enterprise, but so far as in me lies, undo all I 
have done. Sometimes to suffer manfully is the best thing man can 
do j passion may happen to be the most effectual action 1 and I do 
firmly believe that (unless my whole life has been one gross mistake 
from the first) I am this moment, though three thousand miles off, 
active in Ireland, not passive in Bermuda. The manner of my sham 
trial, the eager, fierce haste of the enemy to gag and ruin me, the 
open war w r aged against all constitutional and legal right in Ireland 
_all this will (or else the very devil is in them) sting the apathetic, 


70 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


shame the “ constitutional,” and above all, rouse the young to a 
pitch of wrathful disaffection that cannot but come to good. While 
I am known to be living in vile sinks of felony —and through such 
means —especially if other and better men follow through the same 
means, the mind of the young Irish generation will not easily settle 
down and acquiesce in the sway of the foreign enemy. But if I die, 
I, for one, will soon be forgotten : there will be one stimulus the less 
to Ireland’s friends, one difficulty the less to her foes. And if I die 
by my own hand I will be worse than forgotten ; I will have confessed 
that England’s brute power is resistless, and therefore righteous—at 
any rate that I, for my part, am a beaten man :—it will be my last 
speech and dying declaration, imploring my countrymen to avoid the 
terrible fangs of British Law: my pupils will hang their heads for 
shame, and instead of an example, I shall have become a warning. 

Fourth. Because uny flesh creeps at the thought of the convict 
cemetery. 

Fifth. Because I have much to live for—many duties but half 
discharged or wholly neglected—young children brought into the 
world, and allowed to grow up hitherto, like an unweeded garden. 
For so busy has my life been that I never yet got much farther than 
intending to begin doing my domestic duties. But if it be the will 
of Providence to draw me alive out of this pit, I hope to do my 
children some good yet before I die. 

Sixth. Because ****** 

For these six reasons I mean to live, and not die. It may that 
two years, five years, or seven years, may bring me freedom ; for the 
time is like to be eventful, and Carthaginian policy is surprisingly 
deep and inscrutable:—but at any rate I will live on, and see it out, 
and even economize my health and strength, that I may not be turned 
out at forty-six years of age, a decrepit old man, but may have some 
stamina and spirit left to begin the ivorld upon over again. 

My six reasons, so set out in black-on-white, I find to be altogether 
sufficient. And well they are so ; for the cold determination to 
maintain a mere animal or vegetable life in an ignominous den like 
this, has need of good reasons to justify it. Suicide is not in itself a 
bad act, though in any given case it may be a very dark crime 
indeed. Pliny’s sad saying—that the choicest blessing of this life is 
the power to end it—may not be universally true : yet that same is a 
blessing . and L there be a settled desire of death, and no adequate 
reasons lor living tiiat is, if it be not your clear duty to live, then 


SUICIDE,—PE O AND CONTEA. 


71 


it is your clear right to die. Only let every man beware of mistakes 
in forming a judgment on the point : let him do nothing in haste, or 
out of impatience, spite, or passion : let him give himself a fair trial 
—a rare thing under the sun—and if he find, on impartial inquest, 
that the burden of his life is heavier than he can bear, and that his 
death, or manner of his death, will injure no one—then let him 
calmly, and in all good humor, in no spirit of impious defiance of 
heaven, or stupid scorn of mankind—let him, like good old Gloster, 

“ Shake patiently his great affliction off.” 

But, having gone so far into this exhilarating tractate of self- 
murder, let me see if I can get to the root of the matter. There is 
an axiom of lawyers in all lands—and founded surely on sound 
ethics,—that you may do what you will with your own, but so as not 
to hurt your neighbor. And what can be my own, if my own body 
be not ? I will move it whither I please (unless somebody steals it 
from me and locks it up—as may sometimes happen)—or if I chocse, 
I will keep it at rest, feed or physic it, pamper or starve it, or, if I 
like, riddle it with bullets, or drown it in the sea,—but always pro¬ 
vided nobody else is hurt by these proceedings. Locomotion, in like 
manner is not in itself a crime,—no more than suicide ; yet one has 
not a right to exercise locomotive power by bolting from his place 
of abode, leaving his rent unpaid and his children starving. 

It seems, then, that no man ought to leave engagements undis¬ 
charged, or duties that he has implicitly or cxplicitely contracted to 
do, undone. Is this the key that opens the whole mystery ? 

Hardly the whole. I have heard people say, indeed, that in no case 
can one cast away life without deserting duty ; for every man being 
born into a world of creatures like himself, all fitted for social life, 
and in need of one another’s help, and being endowed with faculties, 
wants, and sympathies, accordingly,—his claims (so they say) on all 
other men, and must reciprocally admit their claims on him,—is 
bound, in short, to exercise those faculties, for the good of himself 
and others, to supply those wants, and develop those sympathies and 
affections, and so become and continue, nolens volens, a good and 
useful member of society, until it shall please God who made him to 
end his task. All this I deny. Nobody is obliged to “benefit his 
species the notion of a man being able to benefit his species, or 
bound to do it, if able, is a mere modern humbug—not more, as I 
calculate, than ninety or a hundred years old. Our duties to 


72 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


“ society,” to “ mankind,” and the like, begin and end with our 
personal engagements, express or implicit: if you violate none of 
these, you may go about your business without leave asked of man¬ 
kind or society : so far as they are concerned you are clear. In 
that case you need not search for reasons to justify your retreat: 
one’s own whim is reason enough ; if you are of a bilious habit, and 
melancholy temperament, and fancy that you are tired seeing the 
sun rise every day, I know no cause why you should not thrust a 
sharp instrument into your dyspeptic stomach and let your disagree¬ 
able soul rush forth into the air ; or, say that you love a woman who 
despises you, and being but young, fancy that you have done with 
life, and that your heart is broken, or “ blighted,”—or, if you like it 
better “ crushed,”—and have no father or mother, brothers or sisters 
to be grieved, shocked or disgraced by you,—why then, paying first 
all your bills, yea, the very tailors, go by all means and take your 
lover’s leap. Mankind will go on without you ; and for the lady, 
whose cruel heart you think to wring, she will be much pleased and 
flattered : your sad fate will have thrown a shade of romantic interest 
around her, and she will look more charming in it than ever. Bless 
your innocent heart, a dozen such scalps as yours at her war-belt, 
will but heighten her rank and dignity in that savage tribe. 

Yet this simple key, one may affirm, does not open the whole 
mystery 5 nor any key yet forged. I will only suggest, that there 
may be other considerations worthy a man’s thought (before he blows 
his brains out) besides his bare duties , debts to society, or engage¬ 
ments with other men, women and children. Finding yourself here, 
a living man, may it not be worth, your while (for remember it may 
be the only opportunity you will have for many an aeon) to stay and 
see what this life is, and what it is good for—to try what capacities 
of action and passion may bo in this Manhood wherewith you are 
thus mysteriously invested—how far it can look before and after— 
whether there be not matters worth seeing, doing, knowing, suffering 
even—consider, consider, whether there may not be—I say not debts 
and duties—but privileges and high prerogatives vested in the very 
life and soul you are about to scatter to the elements, which will 
enable and entitle you, even you, by faithful manly action, to lift up 
that despised human nature of yours, not only out of the slough of 
despond, where it now lies weltering, but above the empyrean and 
the stars—yea, powers whereby you may illumine what is dark in you, 
what is low raise and exalt, and so, 


SUICIDE,— P B O AND OONTKA. 


73 


By due steps aspire 

To lay your just hands on the golden key 
That opes the palace of eternity. 

Wc know what we are, but not what we shall be ; they say that the 
owl was a bakers naughty daughter; and I do verily believe that on 
the extent to which we purify and ennoble our own nature in life 
will depend the rank to be assigned each of us in the scale of God’s 
creatures at death. Therefore, on the whole, I say as convict 
Socrates said,— avdpioreov, as we are men let us be men —as the 
Christian apostle said, “ quit you like men ”—what is needful to be 
endured, endure it—what your hand findeth to do, do it—love, hate, 
work and play, not envying, not oppressing nor brooking oppression, 
above all not lying, to yourself or others, and you will see good days 
before you die and after. 

I am far from saying it is your duty to remain alive for all this— 
only your privilege. You are not obliged, but permitted ; and you 
may throw away the privilege and decline the trouble. But beware, 
lest on your next transmigration you find yourself looking out 
through the eyes of a baboon, or hearing with the ears of a jackass. 

Reading over the above disquisition two hours after writing it, I 
find it consists of words mainly, or even echoes of words,' with 
shadows and ghosts of meanings. Heaven be my witness, I know 
little of man’s life and its high destinies myself, and am often 
inclined to say there is nothing in it. All is vanity. Yet “ look to 
the end of life.” Who can say all is vanity till he has tried it out ? 
Thirty-three years I have walked the earth, and not idly nor with 
my eyes intentionally sealed—I have lived, and I have loved—and 
up to the present date, cannot say that I find this world to be any 
Treat matter. But then, here is a new scene of it opening upon me : 
the hulks may teach me somewhat—I am resolute to "wait and see. 

20 th. —A month in Bermuda ; and there has not been one shower : 
but a heavy dew at night (which it seems Prospero was aware of), 
and even during the day, while a tyrannical sun is blazing down 
vertically upon this arid land, there is a surprising dampness in the 
air, so that salt standing in an uncovered vessel upon a shelf in the 
dry ship, soon runs to water. A southerly wind blows the whole 
summer, laden always with ■water 5 and without it theie would 
certainly be no vegetation at Bermuda. As it is, however, vege¬ 
tation is very rich and the fruit is delicious. Good people have 


74 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


sometimes got a melon or pine-apple smuggled in to me by methods 
to me unknown. 

My window commands a view of the whole dock-yard with its' 
buildings, also the barrack and parade-ground. The 42d regiment 
of Highlanders is stationed here, and just before sunset, every even¬ 
ing, they muster on an esplanade right opposite to me, and march up 
to their barracks with bagpipes playing “ The Campbells are coming, ,7 
or some kindred air. But on the other side, upon the breakwater, 
which is also in part visible from my window, is another muster, sad 
to see ; many hundreds of poor convicts marched in gangs, some of 
them in chains, to their work in the quarries or the new government 
buildings. They walk, as I fancy, with a drooping, dull gait and 
carriage. Their eyes, it is said, are greatly injured by the glare of 
the white rocks, and many of them grow “ moon-blind,” as they call 
it, so that they stumble over stones as they walk. There are always 
two or three of those belonging to this ship kept in irons for one 
fault or another, and the clank of chains is seldom out of my ears. 
Within the month, also, several of them have been savagely flogged : 
the other prisoners are all mustered to see this exhibition ; and though 
I am never summoned to any muster, I can hear iu my cabin every 
cut of the sounding lash, and the shrieks of the mangled wretches. 
I once asked the attendant who brings my meals, what fault a man 
had committed who was flogged that morning. “ For giving cheek, 
sir,” answered the man ; which means, using insolent language. But 
when I hear the officers or guards speaking to them (as when walking 
on deck I often do), it is always in an imperious, insolent tone and 
manner, even in giving the commonest order ; which might well 
exasperate sometimes the tamest drudge. No wonder the poor fel¬ 
lows are sometimes provoked to “ give cheek.” Now, I am sentenced 
to the very same punishment with these convicts, yet here have I my 
cabin,” my book-shelves, the attendance of a servant, wear my 
own clothes, go out and come in at my own times, am spoken to, not 
only without haughtiness, but with respect, and all because I am 
supposed to be (though I never said I was) a gentleman —See here 
the spirit of the British Constitution—a most polite Constitution !— 
a most genteel spirit! See of what fine porcelain clay your British 
gentleman must be made, when, even as a felon (for they are bound 
to pretend that they consider me a felon), the gentleman is not 
to be allowed to mix with the swinish multitude. Your gentlemanly 
convict, even, must have deference and accommodations, and atten- 


LETTEES FliOM HOME. 


dance and literary leisure ;—but in the hulk, as elsewhere, there is 
the hard word and the hard blow, and unremitting, ill-requited toil, 
and fetters for the limbs, and a scourge for the back of tho poor. 

21 st. —Mr. Hire, the deputy-superintendent, came on board to-day, 
and handed me letters from home. The Governor, too, had very 
courteously sent them to me unopened; but Mr. Hire said he ex¬ 
pected that if anything in them related to public affairs I would give 
them up—which of course I promised—then hurried down to my 
den, and with shaking hands broke the seals. A long letter from my 
dearest wife, another from my mother. Matters had gone as I antici¬ 
pated with my affairs in Dublin :—the very day of my sentence the 
printing-office, with types, paper, and books had been seized by the 
police—and then, of course, agents and others who owed me debts 
w r ould not venture to pay them; because, the books being in the 
enemy’s hands, if Lord Clarendon chose it, he might make them all 
pay over again. This I do not think likely 5 but in the mean time, 
under the false pretext of my “ conviction,” the scoundrel robs my 
wife and children. The people are collecting a “ tribute ” for her, 
which is humiliating to think of—yet what can be done ? Besides,' v 
this payment of money in open sustainment of Irish “ Felony ” is a 
good thing. Nothing so fully interests some men in a cause, as sub¬ 
scribing money for it. My brother William has gone to New York 
at my mother’s earnest request: they do not tell me why ; (I warned 
them not to give me any political news, which would only cause the 
letters to be kept from me) but I can guess that the “ government ” 
arc proceeding with vigor. 


76 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Precautions against my Receipt of News from Ireland—“The last Planks of 
the Constitution ”—Contraband Intelligence—English Chartists Imprisoned— 
Meagher Arrested—Martin, Williams and O’Doherty committed for “ Felony ” 
—Warrant out against O’Brien—“ Government ” will have to pack Juries—Duty 
of Juries in Ireland—Method of Rigmarole—“ Books”—Feeding like the Lapland¬ 
ers or the Ducks of Pontus—Necessity of Work—Autobiographies—Gifford, 
Elwood and Crichton—Gibbon, Evelyn and Rousseau—Sulky prisoners—Cut¬ 
throats attending Divine Service—More Contraband Intelligence—John Martin 
transported—Habeas-Corpus Act suspended—Gaols Full—Dumas—Attempted 
Insurrection in Tipperary—Failure—Flight—Famine—Clonmel Juries. 

ft 

July 24 th — On Board the “ Dromedary ” Hulk. Here is a vio¬ 
lent provocation to me : newspapers have arrived, of course, by the 
monthly mail ; I even see them passing from hand to hand amongst 
the guards and mates ; and there is a whole month’s history of Ireland 
in them, continued from the day of my kidnapping, and I cannot see 
one of them. Special orders, it seems, have been given to every¬ 
body on board, under heavy penalties, that no communications are 
to be had with me, save in matters of absolute necessity. The very 
servants who attend about the half-deck seem frightened if they find 
themselves passing near me ; and every one in the- place seems to be 
watching everybody else. I learn also, that before I was brought 
back from the hospital-ship one of the guards of the “ Dromedary ” 
was discharged because he had spoken some words favorably of me 
before another, who straight reported it. He was an Irishman, you 
may be sure, and his name was Derncy. Before I came to Bermuda, 
as ( * *) tells me, there was great latitude allowed in the matter of 
admitting newspapers ; in fact, the prisoners saw the papers regularly : 
but stringent regulations have now been made, and solitary confine¬ 
ment, irons and flogging, are to be the penalties of introducing the 
contraband article. And in such a case they are all spies upon one 
another, both guards and prisoners. This condition is hardly human, 
hardly earthly. The Devil is in the place. 


PORTRAITS OF FRIENDS. 


77 


But why all this care 'and suspicion ? IIow could my receipt of 
public news injure tlie “ government,” seeing I can send out nothing, 
except through the hands of my gaolers ? There may be reasons for 
it unknown to me—statesmanship is profound. 

Aug. 4 th .—Received to-day a large trunk from home, with some 
clothes, a few books, and what I value very highly, four exquisite 
colored daguerreotypes of Glukmamrs : one my wife in profile ; 
another has my mother and wife together, a third, John Martin, my 
staunch and worthy friend—by this time, I suppose, my fellow-felon. 
What a mild and benevolent-looking felon ! The convict Jesus was 
hardly purer, meeker, truer, more benignant than this man is. The 
fourth likeness illuminates my cell with the right manly and noble 
countenance of Father Kenyon. He is standing with his aims folded, 
and a look of firmness, almost scornful defiance, but tempered and 
subdued, in his compressed lips and clear grey eye. Now, the speak¬ 
ing images of two such friends as these—to say nothing of the first 
t W o—will be high and choice companionship for me in my den. But 
what do they now ? Where are they ? How fare they ? Is it possible 
that my gaolers can keep me fourteen years from learning what 
became of the great cause from the 27th of May last forward? I do 
not fear this ; by prudence, and caution, and patience, some bulletins 
of intelligence will be gained, metliinks. 

15 _Each of these wooden prisons, with its inmates, affects still 

to be a ship and crew ; the officer second in command is called “ chief- 
mate,” then we have second-mate, and quarter-masters ; the rank- 
and-file of the turnkeys are termed guards. The prisoners, or ship’s 
company, are distributed into messes and watches 5 and half-a-dozen 
of them who are set apart to man the boats, swab the decks, and the 
like, are “ boatswain’s-mates.” All these matters I discover as I 
walk the quarter-deck in dignified silence, and observe the daily 
ongoings of my dismal abode. So I am to regard myself as one of a 
ship’s company—one who may, by good conduct, rise to be a boat¬ 
swain’s mate! Rather, indeed, I seem a solitary passenger, bound on 
a fourteen years’ cruise, though fast moored by head and stern. The 
language, too, used by both officers and prisoners, is altogether ship¬ 
shape—damn—blast, or b— your bloody eyes! One or other of these 
is the usual form of rebuke, expostulation or encouragement (as the 
case may be) employed in the constant routine of duty. The chief- 
mate, the same tall old man who took charge of my finances, is a 
man high in authority, and damns and blasts all the eyes in the ship 


78 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


at his pleasure, except mine and the commander’s. He is also the 
person specially charged to take care of me. It is he who locks my 
cell at night, and unlocks it in the morning; and beside that, he 
always pays me a visit about ten o’clock at night, and three times 
more between that and morning, to make sure that I have not 
escaped. If I am asleep, or pretending to be asleep, he makes the 
guard bring near his lantern so that its light may fall on my face, 
and assures himself that it is I, and no other who lies there. I see no 
way of escape, or else God knows I would try it: but I am given to 
understand this uneasy vigilance of my old friend the mate is a very 
peculiar and unexampled degree of attention. Yet it is not all: 
since my return from the hospital-ship I learn that a sentinel from 
the barracks keeps guard upon this breakwater all night close along¬ 
side the ship—as well as another sentinel at the place where a bridge 
joins one end of the breakwater to the fortifications—and that 
persons coming to the hulks here after sunset, even the surgeon and 
other officers, are obliged now to provide themselves with passes. 
Then the poor prisoners are restricted from much of the little liberty 
they had before, and must not saunter on the breakwater as they 
used. In short, the reins of discipline have been gathered up so 
tight for my sake, that I believe the whole “ ship’s company ” 
heartily wish I had been sent to Australia or to the devil. I seem 
unconscious of all this, and pace the quarter-deck in silence, walking 
the plank. 

These planks, I may observe by the way, arc undoubtedly the 
celebrated “ last planks of the Constitution,” so often referred to by 
an illustrious gentleman deceased ; and I find them to be of teak. 

20 th .—The August mail-steamer has arrived : bringing another 
month’s history of Ireland, but not for me. I have letters from home 
however ; all well. Wife and bairns at Carlingford for the summer. 

28th .—I was right : news do leak, percolating through the 
strangest capillary tubes : a man cannot be sealed up hermetically 
in a hulk 5 and I am not to be fourteen years in utter darkness. 
Void! Government continues to act with vigor : certain Chartists 
have been holding meetings in London to testify sympathy with me: 
whereupon the insulted government clapped them up iu jail and 
indicted them ; the record of my conviction as a felon was produced 
by my friend Kemmis on their trial as part of the proof against 
them. Amongst others Ernest Jones, an able man, a barrister, and 
editor of the Northern Star , has been convicted and sentenced to 


IRISH REBELS AlIRESTED. 


79 


two years’ imprisonment for attending one of those meetings, and 
saying in his speech there, that I, J. M., would one day return to my 
country in triumph, and Lord John Russell and Lord Clarendon 
would he transported. Fine vigor this! But then possibly Mr. 
Jones and the rest have had fair play in respect of juries in London. 
Of this indeed I can find no distinct intelligence; but there is 
actually Law, and a Government, in their country. If the juries 
were not packed, they have nothing to complain of; if they w r ere 
fairly tried by their countrymen and found guilty, why they are 
guilty. 

In Ireland, Meagher has been arrested at his father’s house and 
carried to Dublin. His crime is a speech at Rathkeale, and 
Ci sedition ” only, not “ felony,” therefore he is liberated on bail. A 
warrant against Smith O’Brien—not yet executed. But John 
Martin lies in Newgate charged with felony, committed in the Irish 
Felon —and where else should felony be found ? Duffy is also in 
Newgate, for a like felony done in the JYation ; Kevin O’Dogherty, 
and R. D. Williams, who established another felonious newspaper 
immediately after my kidnapping, under the title of the Irish Tri¬ 
bune, arc also committed for felony : and, still more vigorous vigor— 
the issue of the three papers, JVation, Felon , and Tribune, was 
stopped by the police, who even took them away from the newsmen 
on the streets; their offices were broken open, taken possession of and 
searched for felonious documents ; and, in short, everything goes on 
in the genuine ’98 style. I like all this very well. 

And poor Williams, with his fragile frame and sensitive poetic 
temperament—is he to be a martyr felon ? And Martin ! But per¬ 
haps Lord Clarendon may find these two amongst the stoutest felous 
he has yet to deal with. 

Now will the philanthropic viceroy deliberately pack a castle jury 
for every one of these criminals; and again systematically exclude 
three parts of the citizens of Dublin from the exercise of the com¬ 
monest rights of good and lawful men? I think he will do it; at 
his peril he must do this atrocity. I told him he would have to do 
it, or else give up the government. He dares not give his prisoners 
a fair trial : “ policy,” “ statesmanship,” and the “ force of circum¬ 
stances ” will imperiously compel him to cheat these men, to work 
hideous injustice under color of law, to tamper with the administra¬ 
tion of justice which it is his office- to guard, to outrage Ireland, to 
lie to England, and to damn his own soul. Imperious force of cir- 


80 


JAIL JOCENAL. 


cumstances! When will rulers conceive, in their benighted minds, 
that common honesty is the deepest policy, and that by far the cun- 
ningest statesmanship would be to do plain justice ? 

At any rate matters are now in train for plenty of excellent legal 
work in Ireland : they will know before all is over what fine laws and 
constitution they have there : the “ Law ” will develope itself, and 
“ Crown and Government ” will get vindicated properly—-jurors, also, 
one may hope, will learn their duty amidst all this (I mean the duty 
they will have to do so soon as trial by jury is restored)—the duty, 
namely, in all political prosecutions at the suit of the Queen of Eng¬ 
land, to find all persons not guilty. Nay, they must carry it further, 
and insist upon bringing in special verdicts in all such cases, finding 
on their oath, that the respective prisoners at the bar have merited 
well of their country—that is, if they have really delivered a damag¬ 
ing blow to “ government.” 

Either it will come to this, or else the philanthropic viceroy must 
pack closer, and ever closer, every Commission ; and transport and 
hang men on the verdicts of his own particular tradesmen, “ by 
special appointment ” jurors to the Lord Lieutenant—which in the 
end may work as well. 

Lord Fitzwilliam wants to “ bring in a bill ” to pension the 
Catholic clergy, that is, bribe them to secure the peace of the country, 
while “ government ” is working its wicked will. Ministers appear 
to think the proposal too palpable and ostentatious in its corruptness 
at the present moment: so they are “ not prepared to accede ” just 
now. That small job is to stand over for a while. 

Sept. 1st .— 1 Three months this day, since I sailed away from the 
Cove of Cork. 

Shall I go on scribbling in a book, making myself believe that I 
am keeping a journal? Why, one day is exactly like every other 
day to me. On this fourteen years’ voyage of mine, it might seem 
that one seafaring practice at least might be dispensed with—keeping 
a log, namely. For my latitude and longitude, my course and bear¬ 
ings a ary not from day to day: the altitude of the sun at noon, is 
always just the same, save the season s difference. Nothing ever 
happens to me. What have I to write ? Or, if I write my nothings, 
who will ever read ? May not the “ chief mate ” come in any morn¬ 
ing and take away my log, for his own private reading—or, if he 
think it worth while, deliver it to the superintendent, who may de¬ 
liver it to the governor, who may deliver it to the prime minister ? 


METHOD OF RIGMAROLE. 


81 


So it may even come to do me harm another day : for I am in their 

power. 

Yet, notwithstanding all these considerations, I feel much inclined 
to jot down a page or two now and then, though it were but to take 
note of the atmospheric phenomena ; or to praise or^xbuse some book 
that I may have been reading : or, in short, to put on record anything, 
whether good or bad, that may have occurred in my mind—if one 
may use so strong an expression as mind in this seaweed state. After 
all, in so very long a voyage, one might well forget from whence he 
set sail, and the way back, unless he have some sort of memoranda to 
refer to. This book will help to remind me of what I was, and how I 
came down hither, aud so preserve the continuity of my thoughts, or 
personal identity, which, there is sometimes reason to fear, might slip 
away from me. These scrawls then will be in some sort as the crumbs 
which the prince (I forget his name) scattered on his way as he jour¬ 
neyed through the pathless enchanted wood. And there was in that 
haunted wood no browner horror than I have to pass through here. 
The aucient marinere too, and his shipmates, Who were the first that 
ever burst into that silent sea—surely they did not neglect to keep 
their dead reckoning. 

For these reasons, and acting upon these examples, I shall go on 
with my notes of nothing." It interests me in the mean time : a 
vicious tirade discharged into this receptacle relieves me much ; a 
dissertation helps me to think, and use reason aright, by means of a 
new organon I have invented, called the Method of Rigmarole : a good 
rant, like a canter on the back of a brisk horse, gives me an appetite 
for dinner. And surely amongst all this there cannot fail to be some 
things that my boys will read with pleasure in future years. 

Memorandum .—To devise a certain and effectual mechanism 
whereby, if I should ever come to be searched for papers, I may pitch 
these pages overboard and ensure their sinking. 

2d .—As for the books I read, or am likely to read here for some time 
(until I can make better arrangements for myself), they furnish small 
matter of remark. The literature most in favor here seems to be the 
very paltriest of London novels reprinted in America; and (for 
«useful reading”) they have those vile compilations called “Family 
Libraries,” and “Cabinet Libraries,” and “Miscellanies,” and the 
like dry skeletons of dead knowledge; from xvhicli nobody ever 
extracted anything but the art of misusing scientific language. It is 
supposed to be “ popularizing ” science when a compiler gathers a 

4 * 


82 


JAIL .J O IT R N A l. . 


parcel of results in some department of knowledge, and sets them 
forth in familiar style, never troubling himself or readers, indeed 
knowing nothing, about the processes whereby those results are got ; 
and so your reader of popular literature learns to gabble about the 
profundity of modern science—you must know it is all modern—and 
to bestow his enlightened pity on ancient people generally, but above 
all on the poor alchemists and astrologers. Thus, algo, in common 
discourse and the newspaper dialects, we perpetually find such words 
as to predicate (in the sense of to predict)— proposition, for proposal 
—conterminous , for adjoining, and the like. 

But apart from the effects on language, and therefore on clearness 
of ideas, I complain of the universal system of compiling and scissors- 
editing, in that books under such treatment cease to be books—are 
no longer the utterance of individual men, but a composite gibberish. 
Here have I been reading an account of Abyssinia, being a volume 
of the “ Family Library,” wherein you travel one stage (or chapter) 
with Bruce ; then half a stage with some Portuguese missionary, and 
the remainder of it with Salt, or somebody else : you are never sure 
of your travelling companion. A book ought to be like a man or a 
woman, with some individual character in it, though eccentric yet 
its own, with some blood in its veins, and speculation in its eyes, and 
a way and a will of its own. Then you may make acquaintance with 
it, receive impressions from it. But if it be a rickle of bones, still 
more if it be a made-up skeleton, collected out of divers graves by a 
popular editor—with Mr. Bruce’s spiral column wired to Mr. Salt’s 
skull-bones, and Mr. Belzoni’s pelvis and ribs, the thing is disgusting. 

Two other volumes of the same Library, to wit:—“ Palestine, 
edited by a Dr. Russell, and “ Persia ” by Frazer, I have also read 
diligently, not without many wry faces—and find them to be of the 
same indigestible material. 

Howbeit I have swallowed a parcel of these volumes for want of 
something better (as Laplanders sometimes dine on blue clay and 
tree-bark) : also a sheaf or fasciculus of novels printed in pamphlet 
shape by New York and Philadelphia pirates. Vast oceans of trash ! 
I have always accounted myself eupeptic in the matter of books; 
thought that I could devour much deleterious stuff without evil 
effect ;— omnia sana sa?iis ;—otherwise I should presently suffer 
from a horrible constipation of garbage. And one has need of a 
stomach like the organs of those ducks of Pontus (unto which, as 
Aulus Gellius saith, poisons are rather wholesome thSn hurtful), who 




BOOKS. 


88 


adventures to gorge the current “literature ” they compound for the 
unfortunate “ masses ” in this great age. But what will not a pri¬ 
soner have recourse to for passing the time! 

Not that I mean to submit to this long. Only for the present I am 
advisedly letting my intellect lie idle, basking in the sun, dozing in 
the shade, grazing upon every green thing. But I never dream of 
killmg Time for fourteen years—if it come to that, Time will kill 
me—fourteen years would be too many for me :—an occasional half- 
hour, to be sure, you may kill if you take him unaware, but to 
slaughter Time by whole lustra and decades is given to no mortal. 
Therefore, I intend, after having been at grass awhile, to cultivate 
friendly relations with Time—a thing to be done by working only— 
to get old Time on my side instead of living against him, that so I 
may use poor Walter Scott’s proverb, “ Time and I against any two.” 
In plain English, if I find that I am likely to stay long here, and to 
have, as now, the disposal of my own time, I will try to procure from 
Ireland some requisite books (perhaps 150 volumes in all)—and 
thereafter deliberately write a certain book, a task which I have 
long lusted after, and often wished for leisure to set about. There 
is leisure enough now 5 and facturusne opera; pretium sim , I make 
no sort of doubt 5 for 'the task itself, by atoning me with Time, will 
be its own rew r ard. 

Touching work , I am by no means sure yet that I may not any 
morning be equipped in a linen blouse, with the broad arrow on its 
back, and sent out in a gang to the quarries to work there. I am 
quite ready : my health is very good. To know practically how to 
blast and hew stones, and build, will be no contemptible accomplish¬ 
ment : and perhaps I may live and thrive better, earn a keener 
appetite for my “ rations,” and a softer pillow for my sleep, work¬ 
ing with my hands, than writing a book. It is but fourteen years 
(more or less)—and for the queen’s broad arrow, they cannot brand 
it upon my heart within, where many respectable members of society 
in Ireland have it stamped indelibly men whose souls dwell in a 
hulk : the queen’s arrow may be branded on my garment, but into 
their souls the iron has entered. 

On this same question—whether I, J. M., shall be, or ought to be 
set to work like a convict—there has been a good deal of discussion 
in Parliament and the newspapers. The “ authorities ” would 
willingly kav t e their forbearance attributed to their tenderness for 
my delicate state of health 5 or in the alternative—as public opinion 


84 


.TAIL JOURNAL. 


may hereafter make it convenient to put the thing on the one ground 
or the other—they could ascribe the difference made in my favor to 
consideration for a “ person of education and a gentleman.” If the 
authorities do now, or shall ever, account for it on the score of 
health, the authorities lie,—not, I ween, for the first time,—because 
I have never once complained of my health since I came to Bermuda, 
and never was in better health all my life. They cannot even plead 
the trifling illness I had on my voyage, because while I was in Spike 
Island express instructions (I saw them) w r ere sent thither from the 
Castle, not to treat me in any w r ay as a convict, or put me into 
convict clothes. Moreover, there are hundreds of poor convicts here, 
working, too, in the quarries, far v r orse in health than I ever w r as, or 
I hope shall be. 

In truth, all this great question is very indifferent to me. 1 do 
not much care whether they make me work like the convicts or no— 
nor how they dress me. I only set down the above facts because 
they are facts ; and it may be convenient for me to remember them 
some other day. • 

At any rate work must be had in some shape. Facito aliquid 
operis, saith St. Jerome, ut semper te Diabolus inveniat occupatum. 
Vel fisc.ellam texe junco ; vel canistrum lentis plecte viminibus ;— 
apum fabrica alvearia ;—texantur et lina capiendis piscibus. 
Which reminds me that there is abundance of good fish here : mullet, 
boneto, a thick sort of flatfish, a red-fleshed fish not very much worse 
than salmon. There is also a monstrous kind of mackerel, three or 
four feet long, a most powerful and voracious fish. They cruise to 
and fro in parties of three or four, and I have often watched them 
for an hour at a time swimming about in the deep green water, and 
occasionally making a superb charge amongst the shoals of young 
fry, like a squadron of Inniskilleners riding through a mob. 

4th — Wth. —Reading Homer, and basking in the sun upon the sea 
side of the breakwater. Weather delicious. Have also been swal¬ 
lowing autobiographies—Gifford’s, Thomas Elwood’s, Capt. Crichton’s 
autobiography by Dean Swift. Crichton was an old cavalry officer, 
an Irishman, who had served in Scotland under the blood-hound 
Dalzell, against the covenanters: and as he could not tell his story 
decently himself, the dean, while he was staying at Markethill, took 
down the facts from the old man and set them forth in his own 
words, but using the first person—Crichton loquente. The product 
is highly amusing: in every page you see a dean of St. Patrick’s 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. 


85 


riding down the whigamores, or a Sergeant Bothwcll in canonicals 
thundering against Wood’s Copper. Bat the best thing is that our 
admirable dean makes Crichton (who did not care a button about the 
matter) deliver with bitter venom, some of his, the dean’s, own 
Jonathan-Swiftean opinions about church-government, and con¬ 
tradict and vituperate Bishop Burnet with an odium almost 
theological, and he a mere dragoon. Wiliam Gifforcl’s account of 
himself is somewhat conceited and pragmatical, yet natural and 
manful. I have a deep and secret sympathy with Gifford. Elwood’s, 
however, is by far the best of the three, and is indeed one of the most 
downright straightforward productions I ever met with. What a 
book of books an autobiography might be made, if a man were found 
who would and could tell the whole truth and no more than the 
truth! But I suppose such a man will never be found. Nobody, 
surely, believes Mr. Gibbon’s statement of his own case: and you 
cannot well tell what to make of Bousseau's. Perhaps Evelyn’s 
diary comes as near to the thing as any of these: but then it is 
almost entirely objective, not subjective ; besides, Evelyn was so staid 
and well-regulated a fellow, so quiet a citizen and point-de-vice a 
gentleman, that what he has to tell is not so well w r orth telling as 
one could wash. I conclude that the perfect or ideal autobiography 
no human eye will ever see * because they whose inner life is best 
worth revealing—whose souls have soared highest and dived 
deepest—are, just they who will never make a confidant of the dis¬ 
cerning public :—or if they communicate anything, it w'ill be but 
here a little and there a little, and not in the name of the Ego, but by 
w r ay of adumbration, as in the case of those sibylline paper-bags put 
forth by the enterprising publishers, Stillschweigen <Sr Cognie, of 
Weissnichtwo. 

\3th .—The glorious bright weather tempts me to spend much time on 
the pier, where I have been sitting for hours, with the calm limpid water 
scarce rippling at my feet. Towards the northeast, and in front of 
me where I sit, stretches away beyond the rim of the world that 
immeasurable boundless blue 5 and by intense gazing I can behold, in 
vision, the misty peaks of a far-off land—yea, round the gibbous 
shoulder of the great oblate spheroid, my wistful eyes can see, 
looming, floating in the sapphire empyrean, that green Hy Brasil of 
my dreams and memories—“ with every haunted mountain and 
streamy vale below.” Near me, to be sure, on one side, lies scattered 
an archipelago of sand and lime-rocks, whitening and spitting like 


86 


JAIL JOURNAL. 

dry bones under the tyrannous sun, with their thirsty brushwood of 
black fir-trees ; and still closer, behind me, are the horrible swarming 
hulks, stewing, seething cauldrons of vice and misery. But often 
while I sit by the sea, facing that northeastern art , my eyes and ears 
and heart are all far, far. This thirteenth of September is a calm, 
clear, autumnal day in Ireland, and in green glens there, and on 
many a mountain side, beech-leaves begin to redden, and the heather- 
bell has grown brown and sere : the corn-fields are nearly all 
stripped bare by this time ; the flush of summer grows pale ; the notes 
of the singing-birds have lost that joyous thrilling abandon inspired 
by June days, w r hen every little singer in his drunken rapture w r ill 
gush forth his very soul in melody, but he will utter the unutterable 
joy. And the rivers, as they go brawling over their pebbly beds, 
some crystal bright, some tinted with sparkling brown from the high 
moors—“ the hue of the Cairngorm pebble ”—all have got their 
autumnal voice and chide the echoes with a hoarser murmur, com¬ 
plaining (he that hath ears to hear let him hear) how that summer is 
dying and the time of the singing of birds is over and gone. On such 
an autumn day to the inner ear is ever audible a kind of low and 
pensive, but not doleful sighing , the first 'whispered susurrus of 
those moaning, wailing October winds, wherewith Winter preludes 
the pealing anthem of his storms. | Well known to me, by day and by 
night, are the voices of Ireland’s winds and waters, the faces of her 
ancient mountains. I see it, I hear it all—for by the wondrous 
power of imagination, informed by strong love, I do indeed live 
more truly in Ireland than on these unblessed rocks. 

But what avails it ? Do not my eyes strain over the sea in vain ? 
my soul yearn in vain ? Has not the Queen of England banished 
me from the land where my mother bore me, where my father’s bones 
are laid ?- 

Sept. 26th. —Asthma! asthma! The enemy is upon me. For a 
few months I fondly dreamed that the fiend was shaken off, and that 
the change of climate had finally exorcised him. Once more I feel 
that, though I take the wings of the morning, there is no escape from 
this plague. 

27th. —“ Blast his bloody eyes! What is he but a convict, like the 
rest of us—a damnation bloody convict?”— Meaning me. I heard 
this exclamation to-day through the wooden walls of my cell, when 
the gangs were in at dinner-hour : for they sometimes grow loud and 
energetic in their discourse, and then I cannot but hear some of their 



OTTT-TJI BOATS AT CHUEOH, 


87 


words. A bloody convict like the rest! The man is right; and I am 
well pleased to hear the observation, and to see the black scowls that 
some of the prisoners give me when any accident brings them to 
meet me on the pier. By “ act of parliament,” and by the verdict 
of a *• jury,- I am a felon, as they arc, and know no title I have to 
walk about “like a gentleman ” that is idle, while they work hard. 
Right, my felon friend ! I like to know that such a feeling is astir ; 
and truly it could hardly fail; these men, who have to take off their 
hats when they speak to the pettiest guard of the ship, and who dare 
not set foot on the quarter-deck, even if they have an errand there, 
v ithout uncovering and making low obeisance—see me marching up 
and down the same quarter-deck, with my hat on, and those very 
guaids and officers, now and then, when they meet me in a quiet 
place, touching their caps to me ;—the prisoners see all this, and, of 
course, they look black and curse. It is the only way they know of 
at present, to express their indignation—and I honor their cursing, 
and \ enerate their black looks, trusting that their wrath will fructify 
into an intelligent and wholesome hatred of those damnable “institu¬ 
tions ” which make so much of gentlemanhood, and so little of 
manhood, to wit, the glorious British Constitution in Church and 
State. 

On Sundays, when the convict-congregation is attending service 
on deck, and their palmetto hats are off, I have an opportunity of 
observing their faces and heads ; an inspection which is facilitated 
by the close cropping .pf. hair and shaving of whiskers enforced 
amongst them. At first glance they look just like the untransported 
population at home; but closer examination makes you aware that 
many of them have evil countenances and amorphous skulls—poor 
fellow’s !—burglars and swindlers from the womb, 

-“ By Nature marked, 

Coted and signed to do some deed of shame.” 

Now, what was to be done with these ? Why were they begotten ? 
Might not they take up a reproach against their Creator, as the man 
of Uz—or say with Adam— 

“Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay, 

To m&uld me Man ?—Did I solicit thee 
From darkness to promote me ?” 

We may become entitled to ask these questions when w r e know the 



88 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


secret things which belong unto God. May not these be even now 
expiating sin committed before they put on human flesh? May not 
this be their Hell?—and a Hell, one might say, infernal enough. 
Poor devils! I hope they may not have to go farther, and fare 
worse. 

Most of the prisoners, however, have good and well-conditioned 
faces, as men generally go—quite up to the average run that you 
meet in Ludgate hill or Dame street. 

30 th .—It was not until this day that I got a sketch of the news 
brought by the September mails. Something strange, it was plain, 
had befallen Ireland, by the significant looks the guards sometimes 
gave me, and by their suddenly stopping their conversation when¬ 
ever my walk on deck brought me near them. I have it; in the first 
place, the Habeas Corpus Act is suspended ; this ordinary proceeding 
having occupied just seventy hours for its six readings and its royal 
assent. Well, there’s nothing very strange in that: I expected that, 
somewhere about this time. But what comes next? John Martin 
found guilty of felony (by a well-packed jury of Castle-Protestants) 
—and sentenced to ten years’ transportation ! I am very glad of 
this, because Martin is simply the best, worthiest, and most thoroughly 
high-minded man I ever knew ; and because he has a large circle of 
acquaintances, who are all aware of his worth. One could not wish 
British Law in Ireland a more damaging, damning sort of “ vindica¬ 
tion ” than thus to be compelled to send such men, by such methods, 
to its hulks. Go on, brave Law! There is nothing like vigor. 

John Martin a convict! John Martin in the hulks! Dragged 
away from the green shades and fertile pleasant places of Loughorne, 
and made one of a felon ship’s-crew at Bermuda, or Gibraltar! But 
the end is not yet. 

Who and what is this John Martin? A political adventurer seek¬ 
ing to embroil the state, in hope of somehow rising to the surface of 
its tossing waves? or a needy agitator, speculating on a general 
plunder? or a vain young man, courting puffs, paragraphs, and 
notoriety? or a wild Jacobin, born foe of Order, who takes it for his 
mission to overthrow whatever he finds established, and brings all 
things sacred into contempt ? Great God ! Thou kuowest that the 
man on earth most opposite to all these is John Martin, the Irish 
Felon. By temperament and habit retiring, quiet, contented, one 
who has lived always for others, never for himself; his pleasures are 
all rural and domestic ; and, if there be any one thing under the sun 


JOIIN MAKTIX. 


89 


that he heartily scorns, it is puffery and newspaper notoriety. All 
he possesses and it is enough for his moderate wants—is landed 
property in fee-simple, which a social chaos would assuredly whirl 
away lrom him. Instead of being a Jacobin, and natural enemy of 
Law, Property, and Order, he venerates Law beyond all other 
earthly things 5 cannot bear to live where anarchy reigns ; would for 
ever prefer to bear with unjust institutions, corruptly administered, 
if not wholly intolerable, rather than disquiet himself and others in 
a struggle to abolish them. But in the exact proportion in which 
this man reveres Law, he loathes and spurns the fraudulent sham of 
Law. He respects property, his own and other men’s, while it sub¬ 
sists 5 but he knows that when a large proportion of the people in 
any land lie down to perish of want, by millions (or were it only by 
thousands or hundreds) there is no property any longer there —only 
robbery and murder. Property is an institution of Society, not a 
divine endowment whose title-deed is in heaven 5 the uses and trusts 
of it are the benefit of Society 5 the sanction of it is the authority of 
Society; but when matters come to that utterly intolerable condition 
they have long been in Ireland, Society itself stands dissolved— 
a fortiori —Property is forfeited—no man has a right to the hat upon 
his own head, or the meal he eats, to the exclusion of a stronger man. 
There has come, for that nation, an absolute need to reconstruct 
society, to re-organize Order and Law, to put property into a course 
whereby it will re-distribute itself. And, inasmuch as such needful 
re-creations never have been, and never will be accomplished, with¬ 
out first tumbling down, rooting up, and sweeping away what rotten 
rubbish may remain of the old venerable Institutions, why, the 
sooner that business is set about, the better. If we must needs go 
through a sore agony of anarchy before we can enjoy the blessings of 
true Order and Law again, in the name of God let us go through 
with it at once. 

Now, is this John Martin’s thought I am setting out, or my own ? 
I believe both. At any rate, John Martin is an Irishman, and can 
never endure to have “ laws ” made over his country by and for a 

foreign people. To make that outrage impossible he accounts the 

«• 

first duty of all Irishmen. There , at least, we are of one mind. 

On another point also we are one. Since my boyhood I have 
always looked with a sort of veneration upon an independent farmer 
cultivating his small demesne—a rural pater-familias , who aspires 
to no lot but labor in his own land, and takes off his hat to no 


\ 


90 JAIL JOURNAL. 

“ superior ” under God Almighty. Tenant-right, fee-farm—call his 
tenure what you will, only let him be sure that where he sows he or 
his shall reap, eat and be satisfied. Such a farmer as this, though his 
acres be very few, can generally bring his children creditably forward 
in a life of honest industry, apprentice some of his sons to handi¬ 
craft-trades, portion the girls with two cows and twenty pounds, and 
grow old among his grandchildren, like an uncivilized patriarch as 
he is; never troubling his mind about the progress of the species, 
nor knowing in the least what that phrase may mean. I have loved 
to see, in the north of Ireland, whilst Ireland was, the smoke of the 
homesteads of innumerable brave working farmers rising from a 
thousand hills ; and often in my summer wanderings (in company 
with the other felon) from the farthest wilds of Donegal to the plea¬ 
sant fields of Down and Armagh, we have fondly dreamed that our 
country’s hope lay in the quiet extension of this tenant-right spirit 
and practice throughout the island— Monuar ! monuar ! how many 
of the warm hearths we saw smoking then are cold to-day!—how ill 
we had estimated the profound ferocity of foreign landlordism ! how 
many of those simple people have had to arise in their old age, bid 
adieu to their forefathers’ graves, and hopelessly seek their fortune 
in a foreign land! I know that respectable puppies would laugh at 
the hardship of a mere peasant , one of the “ masses,” leaving his 
native land. Respectable idiots 1 By Heaven, there is more true 
refinement of feeling, more resistless human passion, more delicate 
sensibility, more keen natural atfectiongmore genuine character in 
any one of ten thousand farm-houses in Ulster than there is in Dublin 
Castle, or in the “ genteelest ” residence of Fitzwilliam square. 

But these people have all been dealt with of late (by those who rule 
and rob) as “ masses a sort of raw materials, to be thinned when 
they think it too thick, to be absorbed or distributed as the interests 
of society (that is those who rob and rule) may secm'to require. We 
have watched for years, we two Felons, the gradual encroachments of 
landlordism on what used to be the property of the farmer—the rapid 
conversion of householders into “ paupers ’’—the incessant efforts of 
the British government to break down all ihdividual self-respect 
amongst Irishmen ;—choosing a scries of famine years to hold out for 
• competition, in every district, a set of u situations under government,” 
and so turn a whole nation into servile beggars ;—the atrocious 
profligacy with which millions were laid out in the undertaking, and 
so laid out as to make sure they would never fructify to any useful 


DUMAS. 


91 


purpose—never produce anything save a crop of beggarly vice, idle¬ 
ness, and rascality. Then we saw a bloody compact made between 
the Irish landlords and that diabolical government—they to maintain 
the “ Union ” for England—England to help and support them in 
killing as many people in Ireland as might be needful to preserve the 
sacred landlord property untouched. We saw that compact put into 
actual execution—and then, at last, we resolved to denounce, at least, 
this villainy, to rouse the people to resist it while there was yet time 
-—at all events to cross its path ourselves though it should crush us. 
And so we are a pair of transported felons. Be it so :—better a 
transported felon than a quiet slave, or a complaisant accomplice in 
murder.—Mine ancient comrade! my friend! my brother in this pious 
felony—withersoever thou art now faring in the fetters of our pirate 
foe, I hail thee from far, across the Atlantic flood, and bid thee be of 
good cheer. The end is not yet. 

Lord Clarendon is filling the gaols all over Ireland, with suspected 
persous by virtue of the Habeas-Corpus-Suspension-Act. And there 
is more Irish history, too, this month, if I could but get at it: but 
better care than ever is taken to keep newspapers out of the ship, and 
to prevent me from learning anything. I will take patience, however 
—John Martin’s transportation is vigor enough for one month. 

Oct. 1 8th. —Three weeks of sickness, sleepless nights, and dismal 
days : and the “ light ” reading that I have been devouring I find to 
weigh very heavy. Yet the “ Three Mousquetaires ” of Dumas is 
certainly the best novel that creature has made. IIow is it that the 
paltriest feuilletoniste in Paris can always turn out something at 
least readable (readable I mean by a person of ordinary taste and 
knowledge) and that the popular providers of that sort of thing in 
London—save only Dickens—are so very stupid, ignorant and vicious 
a, herd ? Not but the feuilleton-men are vicious enough ; but then 
vice wrapped decently in plenty of British cant, and brutified by 
cockney ignorance is triple vicious. Dumas’s Marquis de Letoriere, 
too, is a pleasant little novelette : but I have tried twice, and tried in 
vain, to get through a mass of letter-press called “ Windsor Castle,” 
by Ainsworth; and another by one Douglas Jerrold, entitled “ St. 
Giles and St. James.” It would not do : the loneliest captive, in the 
dullest dungeon, dying for something to read, and having nothing 
else but those, had better not attempt them: they will only make 
him, if possible, stupider than he was before. This Jerrold is the 
same man who perpetually reads lectures to “ Society ” (in England) 


92 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


—abusing it for that it does not, in its corporate capacity, and witli 
public funds, provide for the virtuous rearing of all the poor—yet 
takes upon itself to punish them when they steal, burn ricks, or way¬ 
lay with intent to murder. And he writes never-ending “ Serial v 
stories, purporting to be a kind of moral satires (only the satire has 
no wit and the moral no morality) showing clearly that poor 
children thus neglected in their education by society, have a good 
right to commit reprisals, by picking society’s pockets, or the 
pockets of any member thereof. Think of this cruel society, omitting 
to train up its children in the vuay they should go, yet having the 
unnatural barbarity to maintain constables and gaols for the punish¬ 
ment of those very children when they go wrong! But nothing so 
horribly disgusts this poor snivelling jackass, as capital punishments. 
Hanging by the neck he considers every way unpleasant, and 
unworthy of the nineteenth century. How would he have liked 
stoning with stones—or crucifying, head downward ? He undoubt¬ 
edly regards the criminal legislation of the ancient Hebrews as a 
grossly barbarous code ; but, to be sure, those w T ere unenlightened 
ages, and had no “ Serials ”—nothing but hard tables of stone; one 
copy of the second edition. Society, in short, was in its infancy, and 
you must not expect to find an old head upon young shoulders—nor 
to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. If the compiler of the Levi- 
tical code were called on to compile laws now indeed, after the 
labors of Beccaria, Howard, and the philanthrophists, he might 
make a better piece of work. 

24 th .—What is this I hear!—A poor extemporized abortion of a 
rising in Tipperary, headed by Smith O’Brien. There appears to 
have been no money or provisions to keep a band of people together 
two days. And O’Brien, Meagher, O’Donoghue (Pat, of Dublin), 
and Terence M Manus, of Liverpool, all committed for trial to Clon¬ 
mel gaol for being parties to the wretched business. I cannot well 
judge of this afliair here ; but in so far as I can learn anything about 
it ai d understand it, O Brien has been driven into doing the very 
thin; that ought not to have been done—that Lord Clarendon will 
thar -r.liim heartily for doing. An insurrection, indeed, has been too 
loni deferred 5 yet, in the present condition of the island, no rising 
must begin in the country. Dublin streets for that. O’Gorman, 
Reilly, Doheny, have fled ; and all prominent members of the Confe¬ 
deration in country towns are arrested on suspicion. 

Whr.t glee in Dublin Castle and the blood-thirsty dens of Downing 


CLONMEL JURIES. 


93 


street at this excuse for “ vigorl” And, of course, all the world 
thinks Irish resistance is effectually crushed ; and that Ireland’s 
capacity for resistance was tested at this cursed Ballinagarry. 

Reilly, I am delighted to find, is safe for the present; but Duify, 
Williams and O’Dogherty still lie in gaol awaiting their trial. Now, 
my Lord Clarendon, if your jurors but stand by you, “ law ” will get 
developed and vindicated to a great extent. What is to be the end 
of all this? Are there men left in Ireland who will know how 
to press the enemy hard now ? And who will dare to do it ? Then 
the poor people—God comfort them!—have another famine-winter 
before them 5 for the potatoes have generally failed again : and to be 
sure the corn is not for the likes of them. 

As for juries in these cases, the Clonmel juries will consist merely 
of Cromwellian Tipperary magistrates and frightened Protestant 
landed proprietors. The Castle Judge will put it to them to say 
what they think of revolutions, and what revolutionary characters 
deserve to suffer. It is possible these four worthy men may bo 
hanged. 


j/ 

u 


94 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


CHAPTER y. 

London Paper falls from Heaven—O’Brien, Meagher, M’Manus, O’Donoghue, 
Sentenced to Death—Kindness of the Spirit of the Age—General Estimate of the 
Results of this Irish movement—O’Connell’s Son and the Catholics—Letter from 
New York—The French Republic and the Carthaginian Newspapers— Herr Dop~ 
pelganger Expostulates with the Ego —Republicanism in the Abstract—In the 
Concrete—France marches in the Van— Doppelganger Severely Handled in 
Argument— Doppelganger stands out—The Credit-funds, Peace and Progress— 
Courage, Jacobins!—The Ego leaves Herr Doppelganger not a Leg to stand 
upon—“ Arterial Drainage.” 

JVov. 7th, 1848— In my cell, Dromedary Hulk. —This evening, 
after dusk, as I sat at my window, looking drearily out on the dark¬ 
ening waters, something was thrown from the door of my cell, and 
lighted at my feet. I heard a quick noiseless step leaving the door. 
Picking up the object, I found it to be a London paper. The Halifax 
mail has arrived—I long for the hour when my cell is to be locked, 
and carefully hide my treasure till then. 

At last the chief mate has locked and bolted me up for the night. 
I iight a candle, and with shaking hand spread forth my paper. 

Smith O’Brien has been found guilty, and sentenced to be drawn 
on a hurdle to-the place of execution and hanged. The other trials 
pending. 

21st .—All the four—O'Brien, Meagher, M’Manus, O’Donoghue— 
sentenced to death. But the enlightened Spirit of the Age—the 
Devil take his enlightened cant!—is going to spare their lives and 
only transport them for life. I have seen a part of Butt’s speech 
in defence of Meagher—bad. Also the few words spoken by poor 
Meagher after conviction ;—brave and noble words. 

I have been sick, and unable to write. Why do I not open my 
mouth and curse the day I was born ? Because—because I have a 
hope that will not leave my soul in darkness a proud hope that 
Meagher and I together will stand side by side on some better day— 


GENE Ii A L ESTIMATE OF RESULTS. 


95 


that there is work for ns yet to do—that I am not destined to perish 
on the white rocks of Bermuda—that the star of Thomas Meagher 
was never kindled to set in this Clonmel hurdle. 

Of the state of public opinion in Ireland, and the spirit shown by 
the surviving organs thereof, I have but this indicium. The Free¬ 
man’s Journal, one number of which I have seen, ventures, as a 
piece of incredible daring, to print some words used by Whiteside 
in his speech for the prisoners—words deprecatory of the packing of 
juries, or something of that sort. The editor ventures on no remarks 
of his own, and carefully quotes Whiteside's words as u used by 
counsel.” Quite, quite down! Yet, on the whole, I do not much 
blame Gray, for not flinging himself into the open pit. He was no 
way committed to this particular movement; and perhaps he is wise 
to let the storm blow past and keep his paper alive for quieter times. 

Let me try if I can arrive at any reasonable estimate of the pros¬ 
pects of the great cause amidst all this ululu. Half-a-dozen gentle¬ 
men, or so, are “ transported ” (or suppose we had been impaled or 
broken on the wheel). This, we will say, is a loss to the, half-dozen 
gentlemen aud their friends. But the question is, has British govern¬ 
ment in Ireland been damaged by the collision, or otherwise ? Has a 
breach been effected ? If so, we who were in the front rank at the 
assault, have no right to complain that we only help to fill up a ditch 
with our bodies for other men to pass over. Let us thank God if 
there be men to pass. 

And I think British dominion has been damaged, and heavily. Of 
course, the contrary will seem to be the fact for awhile. All bold 
newspapers will be silenced, and all leading men put under lock and 
key ; there will be a lull in the matter of “ sedition ” and “ treason 
ministers will sanctimoniously congratulate the peaceably-disposed 
community ; cockney newspapers will crow most cheerily; and the 
Irish Rebellion will be matter of merriment to all sleek money-getting 
men in England. But is Irish disaffection growing less deep or 
deadly all this while ? Will the strong healthy appetite for our 
glorious treason just subside when Lord Clarendon chooses burglar¬ 
iously to enter and gut all seditious newspaper offices ? Will Catholic 
householders, who know they are entitled to serve as jurors, paying 
the requisite taxes and having their names on the needful books, will 
they love the “ government ” any better than they did, when they 
find themselves publicly proscribed and excluded from the common 
rights and functions of citizenship ? “ And I prithee, tell me how 


96 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


dost thou find the inclination of the people, especially of the younger 
sort ?” Surely we have not been utterly losing our labor all these 
years past, with our JVations, and our Irish libraries, and ballads, and 
the rest of it. Boys have been growing up all these years ; the na¬ 
tional schools have not been idle. Within thousands of those “ small 
curly heads” (celebrated by Reilly), thoughts have been kindled that 
Dr. Whatcly wots not of. Under many a thin poor little jacket, who 
can tell what a world of noble passion has been set aglow ; what 
haughty aspirings for themselves and their ancient land ; what infinite 
pity ; what hot shame for their trampled country and the dishonored 
name of their fathers; what honest, wistful rage? Ha! if the thought¬ 
ful, fiery boy but live to be a man .—What I mean to say is, in short, 
that there is now actually in Ireland a sort of inchoate rudimentary 
public opinion independent of the Carthaginians on the one hand and of 
the priests on the other. If I be right, or nearly right, in my estimate 
of the relative forces now extant in Ireland, Carthage will dearly rue 
her vigor of 1848. 

For the persons on whom this vigor is exerted, it befalls happily 
that the chief men amongst them (not including myself) are of the 
highest, purest character. Acts of Parliament, verdicts of “ guilty,” 
hulks, chains, hurdles, cannot blacken or disgrace these men. When 
persons calling themselves “ government,” by conspiring with corrupt 
sheriffs and tampering with courts of justice, lay foul hands on such 
men, I believe that government cannot long survive its crime. 

It is true there will be amongst the better-fed classes—of Catholics 
especially—a hideous display of meanness and servility on this 
occasion. I shall not wonder if corporations, bishops, Catholic 
assistant-barristers, and other notabilities, publicly praise my Lord 
Clarendon for his “ wise precautions,” and so forth. O’Connell’s son 
will zealously disclaim all connection with illegal persons, and pro¬ 
fess anxiety to administer the poor dilapidated remnant of his 
hereditary “ agitation,” as he calls it, in a strictly constitutional 
manner. All this is sad enough ; yet, I say, the fact of a number 
of honorable and worthy men being oppressively and corruptly put 
out of the way by the English agents will assuredly bear good fruit 
in Ireland ; the wholesome leaven will be working; “ disaffection ” 
will have received a new stimulus, motive and reason, and will be 
deepening and widening daily. Then the circumstance that half the 
transported felons are Protestant and half Catholic will surely help 
to convince the North (if anything can ever teach the blockhead 


LETTER FROM NEW YORK. 97 

North) that our cause is no sectarian cause. I rely much also on the 
exertions of the national school teachers to inculcate sound Irish doc¬ 
trine dehors the class-books furnished to them by Dr. Whately. 
Yery many of those teachers, I know, were fully bent, a year ago, 
on counteracting the evil influence of that old shovel-hatted Cartha¬ 
ginian who has so long ridden the national school system, like a 
shovel-hatted nightmare. 

On the whole, then, we have— 

First.—The British Government unmasked—driven fairly from its 
conciliatory position, and forced to show itself the ferocious monster 
it is. 

Second—All the generous sympathies and passions of the young 
and high-minded enlisted on behalf of the felons and their felony, and 
outraged and revolted by the atrocity of the enemy. 

Third—The strong appetite for national or seditious reading 
sharpened by Lord Clarendon’s press-censorship : so that the next 
pouring forth of sound doctrine will be as springs of water in a 
thirsty land. 

Thus the breach is every way widened and deepened ; arms are 
multiplied, notwithstanding proclamations and searches; a fund of 
treason and disaffection is laid up for future use ; and it will burn 
into the heart of the country till it find vent. And so the “ Irish 
difficulty” will grow and swell into a huge mountainous impos¬ 
sibility. God prosper it! 

Yes; we “convicts” may be very sure that of all our writing, 
speaking, acting, and endeavoring, and of the labor we have labored 
to do, what was true, just, faithful, will not perish or fail of its effect, 
but will stand and bear fruit, even though we may be lying in foreign 
graves, our bones mixed with the unclean dust of unspeakable rascal¬ 
dom for ever. 

But what must our poor countrymen go through in the meantime ? 
Alas! what further, deeper debasement of mind and body is yet 

before them while those English-still have power to torture the 

land with their “laws?” What exterminations, what murders, what 
beggary and vice, what fearful flights of hunted wretches beyond 
sea to the four winds of heaven! How long ! how long! 

22c?.—Letter from my brother William, who is in New York: it 
seems if he had not left Ireland at once he would have been arrested 
under the Habeas-Corpus-Suspension Act [ which is the palladium of 
the British Constitution—the Habeas Corpus or the suspension of the 

6 



JAIL J0UI1NAL. 


98 

Habeas Corpus ?] Lord Clarendon is cramming the gaols: but Dillon, 
Reilly, O’Gorman, and Doheny, ail seem to have escaped. Dillon is 
in New York—O’Gorman escaped in a small vessel to some port in 
Bretagne.* I cannot make out Reilly’s whereabouts : but wherever 
he is, the worthy fellow is not idle. 

French Republic still standing, and, I think, likely to stand. The 
information that has penetrated to me through my bars is but frag¬ 
mentary ; not presenting me with the panorama in due sequence, but 
only a tableau here and there; yet, what I have seen is good. In 
June, some people, whom the English newspapers call the “Red 
Republicans ” and Communists, attempted another Paris revolution, 
which, if successful, would have been itself a horrible affair, and at 
any rate might have been the death of the Republic : but they were 
swept from the streets with grape and canister—the only way of 
dealing with such unhappy creatures. 

I cannot believe that all the party called Red Republicans are also 
Communists, though the English newspapers use the terms as syno¬ 
nymous—of course to cast odium on the thorough-going Republicans. 
I suspect that there is a numerous party of staunch Republicans who 
believe the Revolution is but half accomplished, which, indeed, may 
turn out to be the case. But then these ought to make no common 
cause with Socialists; Socialists are something -worse than wild 
beasts. 

But I can see no French papers ; I am in British darkness. 

Note, that the gentle Alphonse de Lamartine has somehow dropped 
out of the tableaux of late. I miss his dignified figure, and lofty 
brow with its invisible crown of thorns. I miss the high-flying lan¬ 
guage and gushing tenderness of that piteous poet—his Bedouin 
instep, and his eye in elaborate fine frenzy rolling. What has 
become of him I cannot make out, nor the special cause of his 
dechcance. But it was natural, necessary, and right: let Alphonse 
retire to the East again, and see visions of a Druse-Maronite empire ; 
—let him pour forth his mysterious sorrows on Lebanon, and add 
with tears to the dews of Ilermon. He had no call to the leading of 
a revolution, and was at best but what we seamen call a figure-head. 
The demission of Alphonse pleases mo the better as I predicted the 
same in the United Irishman within a month after the February 
revolution. So far, well: I have other political prophecies pending 
—fulfilment not due yet. 

* No—to Constantinople. 


THE EGO, AND D O P P E L G A N G E K . 99 

The Carthaginian newspapers, I find, are deeply distressed about 
this French Republic: mad that it yet lives. They are zealous in 
laying hold of and exaggerating all the inconveniences that cannot 
fail to grow out of the dislocation of interests and interruption of 
business occasioned by such a revolution ; they are concerned about 
it chiefly for the sake of the French People, you may be sure ; and 
one and all predict a speedy return of monarchy in the person of the 
young Bordeaux-Berri-Bourbon, if not of Louis Philippe himself. In 
truth, these newspaper-men are thoroughly frightened; or rather 
their owners or subsidizers, the aristocracy and credit-funding pluto¬ 
cracy of Carthage, are frightened at tljis near neighborhood of liberty, 
and the danger of fund-confounding revolution; and so they all 
devote it from their hearts to the infernal gods. 

Here is the mighty game of sixty years ago coming to be played 
again—to be played out perhaps this time ; and the world is about 
to be spectator of a most excellent piece of work. And am I, oh my 
God! through all these crowded years of life, to sit panting here 
behind an iron grating, or to die an old hound’s death, and rot among 
Bermudian blatta)! Infandum ! 

Jan. 1 Gth .—Last night, as my double-goer and I—for I go double 
—sat in my cell smoking our pipe together, the awful shade took 
occasion to expostulate with me in the following terms:—“ I do 
observe,” quoth he, “ a singular change in you of late days,—a 
shadow of gloom, and almost a tinge of atrocity, staining the serene 
empyrean of yGur soul,—and, what is yet sadder, I behold in you 
what seems to be a sort of conscious obliquity of judgment and 
elaborate perversity of feeling, wdiich is—that is it appears to me— 
that is if I read you aright—which is blacker than mere natural 
malignity. 

The Ego. (puffing thick clouds). Explain : your language is 
unusual. 

Doppelganger .—Well then, first.—What is the meaning of all this 
fiery zeal of yours for the French Republic? I know well that you 
feel no antipathy to either a monarchical or an aristocratic govern¬ 
ment as such ; that in fact, within your secret heart, you care very 
little about Republicanism in the abstract. 

The Ego. —Not a rush. What then ? 

Doj^p el ganger. —Then I am forced to conclude that your anxiety 
for the success of the French Republic springs from something else 
than zeal for the welfare of the human race. 


100 


JAIL JOURNAL, 

The Ego. —A fig lor the human race : to be sure it does. 

Doppelganger. —Yes ; it is born of no love for mankind, or even 
French mankind, but of pure hatred to England, and a diseased 
longing for blood and carnage. You think a republic cannot long 
stand in France without an European war, which would smash the 
credit-system, cut up commerce, and in all probability take India and 
Canada from the British Empire—to say nothing of Ireland. 

The Ego. —To say nothing of Ireland ? But what if I were think¬ 
ing of Ireland all the time ? 

Doppelganger. —And for the chance of getting Ireland severed 
from Britain in the dreadful melee , do you desire to see all Europe 
and America plunged in desperate war ? For the chance of enkind¬ 
ling such a war, do you delight to see a great and generous people 
like the French, committing themselves and their children to a wild 
political experiment, which, as you know, is as like to breed misery as 
happiness, to them and theirs ? 

The Ego—(laying down pipe , and raising aloft an umbrageous 
pillar of smoke). —Now listen to me, Ilerr Doppelganger. First, I 
care little indeed about republicanism in the abstract: but the French 
Republic I watch in its growth with keen and loving interest. For 
Republicanism, or Monarchism in the abstract, is nothing: a govern¬ 
ment is a thing that governs concrete living men under absolute 
extant circumstances : and I regard aristocratic and monarchic insti¬ 
tutions, how good soever in their day and place, how defensible 
soever “ in the abstract,” as being for the Western nations of Europe 
worn out—that is to say, worn out for the present, and until we shall 
have advanced to them again, via barbarism, in the cyclical progress 
of the species. For England, for Ireland especially, I believe those 
institutions are far more than worn out—-were worn out fifty years 
ago, and have only been kept seemingly alive by the commercial 
world, and for purposes of traffic—to stave off the inevitable bank¬ 
ruptcy, smash, and alteration of the style and firm: but in so sustain¬ 
ing a fictitious credit, and pushing trade to such desperate lengths 
under it, those money-making people are likened unto the man who 
built his house upon the sand—the longer he has been able to shore it 
up (building additional storeys on it all the while) the greater will be 
the fall of it.—Secondly, I hold that in all marches and counter¬ 
marches of the human race France of right leads the van. Your 
Anglo-Saxon race worships only money, prays to no other god than 
money, would buy and sell the Holy Ghost for money, and believes 


FRANCE IN THE VAN. 


101 


that the world was created, is sustained and governed, and will he 
saved, by the only one true, immutable, Almighty Pound Sterling. 
France recognizes a higher national life, aspires for ever to a grander 
national destiny than mere trading. France mints the circulating 
medium of thoughts and noble passions ; and sets up poor nations in 
business with capital of that stamp. Paris is the great moral metropolis 
of mankind. Thirdly, mein Herr, the French have no right to stipu¬ 
late for their own *•' happiness,” while they discharge this high public 
duty. Neither for man nor nation is happiness the end of living— 
least of all for those who utter new truths and lead in new paths. 
Let a nation act -with all the energy of its national life—do with its 
might what its hand findeth to do,—the truth it has got to utter 
speak it in thunder. Therein let it find its “ happiness,” or nowhere. 

Doppelganger. —You speak as if France were fighting the repub¬ 
lican fight for all the world, and in advance of all the world : 
apparently you forget America, and where France herself went to 
school to learn Republicanism. At any rate, the United States were 
a Republic before ever France was one. 

The Ego. —And San Marino before the United States. But I was 
speaking of the great ancient nations of feudal Europe, and the 
struggle and travail that is appointed them before they can slough 
off the coil of their decrepit or dead aristocracies and heraldries, 
which have come to be humbugs :—a struggle which the United 
States never knew, nor had need to make:—for those British 
Colonies in America, once the yoke of King George was broken, 
found themselves republics by the necessity of the case : they had no 
material there whereout to form any other sort of Government. The 
difficulty there would have been to get up a dynasty—to find the 
original parents out of whom to breed an hereditary aristocracy. In 
short, external circumstances and agencies, and mere necessity, made 
America Republican. But France —-France, with all her circum¬ 
stances , habits, traditions, tending the other way ; ancient France, 
Mother of Chivalry, heritage of Charlemagne’s peers, environed by a 
whole world of monarchism, landlordism, and haughtiest gentility 
—tearing off the clinging curse, trampling it under foot, and fronting 
the naked swords of all raging Europe, while she stood forth in the 
simple might of manhood, uncrowned, unfrocked, untabarded, show¬ 
ing what, after all, men can do ; then, after her own hero, in whom 
she trusted, lifted up his heel against her, when she was hacked and 
hewn almost to pieces by the knives of allied butchers, hag-ridden 


102 


JAIL JOURNAL. 

by the horrid ghost of a dynasty, and cheated by a “ citizen king,” 
—cherishing still, deep in her glowing heart, the great idea, through 
long years, through agonies and sore travail, until the days are 
accomplished for the godlike birth— this, I apprehend, is another 
kind of phenomenon than the Declaration of Independence. And we 
ought to be thankful to the good God, you and I, that we live in the 
days when we may reasonably hope to see this noble work consum¬ 
mated, though it be in flames and blood. 

Doppelganger .—You say nothing in answer to my charge, that 
all this enthusiasm of yours is mere hatred of England. 

The Ego .—No : I scorn to answer that. But what mean you by 
England ?—the English people, or English government ? Do you 
mean those many millions of honest people who live in England, 
minding their own business,—desiring no better than to enjoy, in 
peace and security, the fruits of then* own industry,—and grievously 
devoured by taxes,—or do you mean the unholy alliance of land- 
appropriators, and fund-men, and cotton-men who devour them ? 
Do you mean the British nation, or do you mean what Cobbett called 
the Thing ? 

Doppelganger .—By England, I mean, of course, all her people 
and all her institutions—tradesmen and nobles, Church and State, 
weavers, stockholders, pitmen, farms, factories, funds, ships, Carlton 
clubs, Chartist conventions, dissenting chapels, and Epsom races. I 
mean that. 

The Ego .—You do ? Then let me tell you it is a very unmeaning 
kind of lumping you make ; I hold that now, and for fifty years back, 
the best friend to the British nation is simply he who approves him¬ 
self the bitterest enemy to their government, and to all their 
institutions, in Church and State. And thus I claim to be, not an 
enemy, but a friend, of England : for the British people are what / 
call England. 

Doppelganger. —Excluding, of course, those cruel capitalists, 
mill-owners, landlords,—everybody, in short, who has anything ? 

The Ego. —Excluding nobody. But you are aware that in every 
possible condition of human society, no matter how intolerable to 
the great majority, no matter how grievously it may cry aloud for 
change, there are always many fat persons right well content with 
things as they are—to wit : those who thrive upon things as they 
are. Why, in Ireland even, are many grave and well-dressed persons 
(I have seen them myself in Belfast, and even in Dublin, among the 


DOPPELGANGER S T ANDS OUT. 


108 


fed classes)—wlio say, Ireland is doing reasonably well, and likely to 
do well. Now, in speaking of Ireland and the Irish people, I do not 
exclude those fed persons :—only set at naught their opinion, and set 
aside their particular interests in consideration of the vital general 
interest. Therefore, when I say, that I would cut down and over¬ 
throw, root and branch, the whole government and social arrange¬ 
ment of England, I am entitled also to call myself a friend to the 
English people, to all the English people—yes, to the very money- 
men in Lombard street, to the very dukes, the very bishops—I 
would make them all turn to some honest occupation. 

Doppelganger. —Do you imagine capitalists eat their money, and 
so make away with it out of rerum natural —Or that land-pro¬ 
prietors devour and digest the entire produce of their estates?—Qr, 
in short, that the wealthy, be they ever so malignant, can use their 
riches otherwise than by employing the poor, and paying them for 
their labor?—Or do you propose to enable all the poor to live 
without labor or wages ? 

The Ego. —I am not to learn from you first principles of political 
economy, taken out of Dr. Whateley’s little primer. Perhaps you 
will next be urging that mill-owners are not, by na^pre, anthropo¬ 
phagous, and that landlords are not, by anatomical sti ucture, 
kyamas, but men. Let us suppose all those matters you have 
mentioned, Just proved, admitted, put out of the way:—they are 
nothing to the purpose. But the case is this, those you call 
capitalists are, as a body, swindlers— that is to say, the “commercial 
world” is trading on what it knows to be a fictitious capital,—keeping 
up a bankrupt firm by desperate shifts, partly out of mere terror at 
the thought of the coming crash, and partly because—what often 
pgppgjjg pi bankruptcy—those who are active in the business aie 
making their private gains in the meantime out of the already 
dilapidated estate and all this is but preparing for a heavier fall, 
and wider-spreading ruin :—the more undoubting confidence in the 
stability of the concern is felt by fools and pretended by knaves, so 
much the greater number of innocent and ignorant people will have 
their homes desolated at last. Again, I say that fifty years ago the 
Crown and Realm of Britain was a bankrupt firm, and that the 
hollow credit system on which it has kept itself afloat is a gigantic 
piece of national swindling,—which must end not in ruin merely, 

but in utter national disgrace also. 

Dapple ganger. —Ah! The nation is swindling itself then! I 


104 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


perceive, you think England must bo ruined by the National Debt— 
that huge sum of money due by herself to herself. 

The Ego. —Yes—due by England to herself; that is to say, due 
by the millions of tax-payers to the thousands who have interest 
enough to get themselves made tax-eaters—that is to say, due by the 
workers to the idlers,—due by the poor to the rich,—yet, incredible 
to tell, incurred and created at first by the idlers and the rich, to 
sustain a state of things which keeps them idle and rich. In short, 
over and above the eternal inequalities of condition in human 
society, which for ever doom the many to labor that the few may eat 
and sleep, over and above this, British policy has thrown an addi¬ 
tional burden of eight hundred millions or so upon the working 
many—placed an item of that amount on the wrong side of the 
account,—to make the workers, I suppose, work the better—to make 
them look sharp, and mind economy—lest they should wax fat and 
kick, possibly kick down the whole Thing. 

Doppelganger. —But, after all, the main question as to this 
national debt is, whether the objects for which it was incurred were 
to the nation worth the money, or rather worth the inconvenience 
of owing the money and burdening the industry of the country with 
the interest of it. England was certainly saved from invasion,— 
her vast commerce and manufactures— 

The Ego .—Yes, England was saved from invasion ; her institutions 
in Church and State, from ruin ; her game-preserving aristocracy 
from abolition and the lamp-iron; her commerce and manufactures 
were kept going on a fictitious basis;—and India, Canada, Ireland, 
were debarred of their freedom. These are the things for which the 
eight hundred millions were squandered and instead of incurring a 
never-to-be-paid debt to avert all those sad events, I tell you 
that, to the English people it had been worth many a million to effect 
them—every one to the Irish people worth the best blood in their 
veins. 

Doppelganger.— But why do you keep saying fictitious basis, ficti¬ 
tious capital ? What is there fictitious in all this commerce ? Does 
it not hold myriads of men employed ? Does it not pay them in hard 
money every Saturday ? Does it not keep their families in comfort¬ 
able houses, and clothe and feed them as only the families of British 
artizans can pretend to be clothed and fed ? Does it not enable them 
to save money and realize an independence for their old age ? 

The Ego. —How do they invest their savings ? In buying land ? 


DOPP EL GANGER DOES NOT YIELD. 


105 


Doppelganger. —No ; you know well that small properties of land 
are not a common commodity in the market. The soil of the British 
islands is not just yet cut up into little fee-farms: your revolution 
has to come yet. 

The Ego. —How then do these hard-working men secure the money 
they have realized, as you tell me, for an independence in their 
old age ? 

Doppelganger. —Why, in the public funds,—or, in the savings- 
banks, which invest it for them in the same funds. And I believe 
when they wish to draw out their deposits, those banks generally pay 
them without demur. 

The Ego. —They do:—the insolvent State has not yet shut its 
doors. Yet I do affirm that these poor honest people are laying up 
their savings in a fund beyond the moon :—they take debentures on 
the limbo of fools. Why, the last holders of these securities will all 
inevitably be robbed; that grand national swindle, which is called 
the “ national credit ” (and to keep up the “ stability” of which all 
newspapers and organs of opinion are subsidized to express confidence , 
and to vaunt daily the infinite resources of the empire)—that national- 
credit swindle will cheat them irremediably at last. There is no 
money, or other wealth, in those same funds: there is absolutely 
nothing to meet these poor people’s claims—nothing but confidence: 
-—and they are exchanging their hard earnings for draughts of east 
wind. 

Doppelganger. —But how well, how wonderfully it works! Con¬ 
sider how many people live comfortably on the yearly produce of 
these same debentures, and bequeath them to their children, or 
exchange them for farms and merchandise,—and never know that 
the notes are but draughts of Notus and Company upon Eurus and 
Sons. Consider the amount of gainful business actually done upon 
this great national credit,—the vast interests that depend upon it. 
Why may it not go on and expand itself infinitely, or, at least, inde¬ 
finitely ? 

The Ego. —Because, Because it is the inevitable fate of mere 
sublunary soap-bubbles to burst, when they are blown to a certain 
predestined bignessbecause a lie, be it never so current, accepted, 
indorsed, and renewed many times, is quite sure (thank God!) to get 
protested at last. Is it not so written in the great Book of nosier 
Thomas?—Written also in the yet greater Books of Nature and 
History, with an iron pen ?—“ Great is Bankruptcy.” 

5 * 


10 6 


JAIL JOURNAL, 


Boppeiganger. —Suppose all this true—I, at least, cannot think, 
without pain, of the inevitable destruction of all this teeming life and 
healthy glowing action. It is a bright and stirring scene. 

The Ego. —But look well at the background of this fine scene; 
and lo! the reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls of Skibbereen!— 
and the ghosts of starved Hindoos in dusky millions. 

Doppelganger. —Surely these sore evils are not incurable—by 
wise administration, by enlightened legislation : the ghosts and 
skeletons are not an essential part of the picture 5 not necessary to 
the main action of the piece. 

The Ego —Absolutely necessary ;—nay, becoming more and more 
necessary every hour. To uphold the stability of the grand central 
fraud, British policy must drain the blood and suck the marrow of 
all the nations it can fasten its desperate claws upon : and by the 
very nature of a bankrupt concern sustaining itself ou false credit, 
its exertions must grow more desperate, its exactions more ruthless 
day by day, until the mighty smash come. The great British Thing 
cannot now do without any one of the usual sources of plunder. The 
British Empire (that is, the imaginary Funds ) could not now stand 
a week without India,—could not breathe an hour without Ireland : 
the Thing has strained itself to such a pass that (being a sublunary 
soap-bubble, and not a crystalline celestial sphere), the smallest jag 
will let the wind out of it, and then it must ignominiously collapse. 
Or you may call this abomination a pyramid balancing itself upon 
its apex—one happy kick on any side will turn it upside down. For 
ever blessed be the toe of that boot which shall administer the 
glorious kick! 

Doppelganger. —And must every new order of things in the 
revolutions of eternity be brought about only through a fierce 
paroxysm of war ? Let your mind dwell for a minute on the real 
horrors of war. 

The Ego. —Let your mind dwell a moment on the horrors of 
peaceful and constitutional famine ;—it will need no effort of 
imagination, for you have seen the thing—and tell me which is 
better, to pine and whiten helplessly into cold clay, passing slowly, 
painfully through the stages of hungry brute-ferocity,—passionless, 
drivelling, slavering idiocy,—and dim awful unconsciousness, the 
shadow-haunted confines of life and death—or to pour out your full 
soul in all its pride and might with a hot torrent of redraging blood, 
—triumphant defiance in your eye, and an appeal to heaven’s justice 


PEACE AND PB0GRES8. 


107 


u 


•n 


on your lips— animam exhalare opbnam. —Which ? Nay, whether 
is it better that a thousand men perish in a nation by tame beggarly 
famine, or that fifty thousand fall in a just war ? Which is the more 
hideous evil—three seasons of famine-slaughter in the midst of 
Heaven’s abundance, at the point of foreign bayonets, with all its 
train of debasing diseases and more debasing vices—or a thirty 
years’ war to scourge the stranger from your soil, though it leave 
that soil a smoking wilderness ? If you have any doubt which is 
more horrible, look on Ireland this day. “ They that be slain with 
the sword,” saith Jeremiah the prophet, “ are better than they that 
be slain with hunger ; for these pine away, stricken through for want 
of the fruits of the field.” 

Doppelganger. —I cannot see the absolute necessity of either. 
Those good people may not be mere idiots, after all who look forward 
to the total cessation of war. 

The Ego .— 

Ov yap 7tw rov r' eoti <$>l\qv gaKapeaai Oeotcuv 
OKidos Tirj^ai nptv nev Xvkos olv vpevaioi. 

See Aristophanes. Let me also refer you to the Homeric verse— 

Doppelganger .— Let me have none of your college quotations. 

The Ego. —Then give me none of your confounded cant about 
cessation of war. Nature has laws : because the Irish have been 
taught peaceful agitation in their slavery, therefore they have been 
swept by a plague of hunger worse than many years of bloody fight¬ 
ing. Because they would not fight, they have been made to rot off 
the face of the earth, that so they might learn at last how deadly a 
sin is patience and perseverance under a stranger’s yoke. 

Doppelganger. —I hear you say so ; but I want some reasons. 
Nature has laws ; but you are not their infallible interpreter. Can 
you argue ? Can you render a reason ? 

The Ego. —I never do : it is all assertion. I declaim vehemently, 
I dogmatize vigorously, but argue never. You have my thought, I 
don’t want you to agree with me ; you can take it or leave it. 

Doppelganger. —Satisfactory. But I find the Irish people draw 
quite a different moral lesson from late events. They are becoming, 
apparently, more moral and constitutional than ever ; and O’Connell’s 
son points to “ Young Ireland,” hunted, chained, condemned, trans¬ 
ported, and says, Behold the fate of those who would have made us 


108 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


depart from the legal and peaceful doctrines of the Liberator! And 
they hearken to him. 

The Ego. —And do you read Ireland’s mind in the canting of 
O’Connell’s son ?—or in the sullen silence of a gagged and disarmed 
people ? Tell me not of O’Connell’s son: his father begat him in 
moral force, and in patience and perseverance did his mother conceive 
him. I swear to you there are blood and brain in Ireland yet, as the 
world one day shall know. God! let me live to see it. On that great 
day of the Lord when the kindreds and tongues and nations of the old 
Earth shall give their banners to the wind, let this poor carcase have 
but breath and strength enough to stand under Ireland’s immortal 
Green! 

Doppelganger .—Do you allude to the battle of Armageddon ? I 
know you have been reading the Old Testament of late. 

The Ego. —Yes: “ Who is this that cometh from Edom—with dyed 
garments from Bozrah ? This that is glorious in his apparel, travel¬ 
ling in the greatness of his strength ? Wherefore art thou red in thine 
apparel, and thy garments like him that trcadeth in the wine vat ? 
I have trodden the wine-press alone, and of the people there was none 
with me : for I will tread them in mine anger and trample them in 
my fury, and their blood shall be sprinkled upon my garments, and I 
will stain all my raiment. For the day of vengeance is in mine heart.” 
Also an aspiration of King David haunts my memory when I think on 
Ireland and her wrongs— “ That thy foot may he dipped in the blood 
of thine enemies, and that the tongue of thy dogs may be red 
through the same.” 

Doppelganger. —Anathema ! What a griesly frame of mind ! 

The Ego. —Ah ! the atmosphere of the world needs to be cleared 
by a wholesome tornado : the nimble air has grown obese and heavy ; 
charged with azote, and laden with the deleterious miasmata of all 
the cants that are canted. Tell me, do you believe, or rather under¬ 
stand, that these neighboring West Indian islands would soon be 
uninhabitable to any living creature save caymans and unclean 
beasts, but for an occasional hurricane ? 

Doppelganger. —Very true ;—and I observe the analogy. But I 
do not understand that men in the West Indies get hp hurricanes, or 
pray to heaven for hurricanes. Remember that God, in the hollow 
of whose hand is the cave of all the winds, sends forth his storms 
when he sees fit. 

The Ego. —And his wars also :—the difference lies only in the 


DOPPELGANGER IS ELOQUENT. 109 

secondary agencies whereby the Almighty works : when tornadoes 
are wanted, to purify the material atmosphere, He musters and em¬ 
battles the tropic air-currents from Cancer to Capricornus, be they 
moist, dry, dense or rare, under their several cloud-banners; and at 
the blowing of the thunder-trumpet they rush blindly together, 
crashing calamitously through cane plantations, blowing the sails off 
sugar-mills and desolating colonial banks :—but when the moral 
tornado has to blow upon the earth,—when wars and revolutions (the 
truest moral force) are needed to purify and vivify a comatose world, 
then Providence uses another kind of power—to wit, Man . For not 
more surely, not more absolutely are the winds inoloscd in the hollow 
of the Almighty hand, than are the gusts and tempests of mortal pas¬ 
sion, or even -what we deem our coolest and best regulated resolves : 
and when strong indignation against oppression, when pity, and pride 
and sacred wrath have grown transcendental in divine rage against 
Falsehood and Wrong, and arm for desperate battle against some 
lioary iniquity, then Charge in the name of the Lord of Hosts! 

Doppelganger. —But a mistake may occur. In your high-blazing 
transcendent fury you may chance to be fighting the devil’s fight. 

The Ego. —Be that at the peril of every man who goeth up to the 
battle. 

Dopp el ganger. —Enough, enough ! I seem to smell the steam of 
oarnage. I envy you not your bloody dreams. Though all this were 
as you argue— 

The Ego. —I do not argue. 

Doppelganger. —Well, as you harangue ; yet one is not obliged to 
delight in the storm of human wrath and vengeance, any more than 
in the wasting tornado. Though it must be that this offence come, 
woe unto him by whom it cometh! Oh! pity and woe, if the same be 
his chosen mission, wherein his soul delights. In such gloating over 
thoughts of dying groans and hoof-trampled corpses and garments 
rolled in blood, there is something ghastly, something morbid, mono- 
maniacal,—to you surely something unnatural, for you have always 
lived peaceably. And though we were very Manichasans, and believ¬ 
ed thatthe principle of destruction, disorder and darkness were for 
ever to maintain unextinguish able and infinite battle with the spirit 
of Order and of Good, yet I cannot think he chooses the better part 
who enlists under the banner of Ahriman—who loves to destroy, and 
builds, creates, nothing. 

The Ego. —Hearken once more, Oh Double-goer! Consider how 


110 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


this habitable earth, with all its rock-built mountains and flowery 
plains, is for ever growing and perishing in eternal birth and death— 
consider how the winds, and lightnings, and storms of rain and hail, 
and flooded rivers, and lashing seas are for ever cutting, mining, 
gnawing away, confringing, colliding and comminuting the hills and 
the shores, yea and the sites of high-domed cities,—until every moun¬ 
tain shall be brought low, and every capital city shall lie deep “ at 
the bottom of the monstrous world,” where Helice and Buris, Sodom 
and Gomorrah lie now :—this, I suppose, you call destruction :—but 
consider farther how the nether fires are daily and nightly forging, 
in the great central furnaces, new granite mountains, even out of 
that old worn rubbish ; and new plains are spreading themselves forth 
in the deep sea, bearing harvests now only of tangled alga, but 
destined to wave with yellow corn ; and currents of brine are hollow¬ 
ing out foul sunless troughs, choked with obscene slime, but one day 
to be fair river-valleys blushing with purple clusters. Now in all 
this wondrous procedure can you dare to pronounce that the winds 
and the lightnings, which tear down, degrade, destroy, execute a 
more ignoble office than the volcanoes and subterranean deeps that 
upheave, renew, recreate ? Are the nether fires holier than the upper 
fires? The waters $iat are above the firmament, do they hold of 
Ahriman, and the waters that are below the firmament, of Ormuzd ? 
Do you take up a reproach against the lightnings for that they only 
shatter and shiver, but never construct ? Or have you a quarrel with 
the winds because they fight against the churches, and build them 
not ? In all nature, spiritual and physical, do you not see that some 
powers and agents have it for their function to abolish and demolish 
and derange—other some to construct and set in order ? But is not 
the destruction, then, as natural, as needful, as the construction?— 
Rather tell me, I pray you, which is construction—which destruction ? 
This destruction is creation : Death is Birth and 

“ The quick spring like weeds out of the dead.” 

Go to :—the revolutionary leveller is your only architect. There¬ 
fore take courage, all you that Jacobins be, and stand upon your 
rights, and do your appointed work with all your strength, let the 
canting fed classes rave and shriek as they will:—where you see a 
respectable, fair-spoken Lie sitting in high places, feeding itself fat on 
human sacrifices,—down with it, strip it naked, and pitch it to the 
Devil: wherever you see a greedy tyranny (constitutional or other) 


DOPPELGANGER YIELDS. 


Ill 


grinding the faces of the poor, join battle with it on the spot,—con¬ 
spire, confederate, and combine against it,—resting never till the 
huge mischief come down, though the whole “structure of society” 
come down along with it. Never you miud funds and stocks—if the 
price of the things called consols depend on lies and fraud, down 
with them too :—take no heed of “social disorganization you can¬ 
not bring back chaos—never fear—no disorganization in the world 
can be so complete but there will be a germ of new order in it: sans- 
culottism, when she hath conceived, will bring forth venerable insti¬ 
tutions,—never spare—work joyfully according to your nature and 
function ; and when your work is effectually done, and it is time for 
the counter-operations to begin, why then you can fall a-constructing 
if you have a gift that way,—if not, let others do their work 5 and 
take you your rest, having discharged your duty. Courage, Jacobins! 
for ye too are ministers of Heaven. 

JDoppelganger. —In one word you wish me to believe that your 
desire to plunge your country into deluges of slaughter arises out ol 
philosophical considerations altogether. 

The Ego. —Entirely. I prescribe copious blood-letting upon strictly 

therapeutical principles. 

JDoppelganger. —And revenge upon England for your own private 
wrong has nothing to do with it! 

The Ego. —Revenge ! Private wrong! Tell me, are not my aims 
and desires now exactly what they were two years ago before I had 
any private wrong at all? Do you perceive any difference even in 
point of intensity ? In truth, as to the very conspirators who made 
me a « felon” and locked me up here, I can feel no personal hostility 
against them : for personally I know thenmot, never saw Lord John 
Russell or Lord Clarendon—would not willingly hurt them if I could. 
I do believe myself incapable of desiring private vengeance at 
least I have never yet suffered any private wrong atrocious enough 
to stir up that sleeping passion. The vengeance I seek is the righting 
of my country’s wrong, which includes my own. Ireland, indeed, 
needs vengeancebut this is public vengeance, public justice. 
Herein England is truly a great public criminal. England all 
England, operating through her government, through all her organ¬ 
ized and effectual public opinion, press, platform, pulpit, parliament, 
has done, is doing, and means to do, grievous wrong to Ireland ;— 
she must be punished : that punishment will, as I believe, come upon 
her by and through Ireland 5 —and so will Ireland be avenged. 


112 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


“ Nations are chastised for their crimes in this world—they have no 
future state.” And never object that so the innocent children would 
be scourged for what the guilty fathers did ; it is so for ever—a pro¬ 
fligate father may go on sinning prosperously all his days with high 
hand and heart, and die in triumphant iniquity; but his children are 
born to disease, poverty, misery of mind, body and estate. The 
fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on 
edge. Mysterious are the works and ways of God. Punishment of 
England, then, for the crimes of England—this righteous public 
vengeance, I seek and shall seek. Let but justice be done—let 
Ireland’s wrong be righted—and the wrong done to me and mine is 
more than avenged; for the whole is greater than its part. Now, 
mein Herr, you have my theory of vengeance ; and for such ven¬ 
geance I do vehemently thirst and burn. 

Doppelganger (musing).—He has a great deal of reason : I do 
begin to be of his opinion. 

The Ego. —Yes, we generally come to be of one mind in the long 
run. But it grows late, and we have talked long enough. Let us 
drink our rum-ration ; and I will propose to you a national toast— 
(rising up and speaking solemnly )— Arterial Drainage! 

Doppelganger.—(with enthusiasm '—Arterial Drainage! 

The Ego. —Good night! 

Doppelganger. —Hark! I hear the first mate coming with his keys 
—Good night! {Doppelgangerflies out of the port-hole, between 
the bars —27 le Ego tumbles into bed.) 


ESCAPE OF OUT-THROATS. 


113 


CHAPTER VI. 

Escape of Three Cut-throats—Hot Pursuit—Capture—Solemn mangling of the Cut¬ 
throats—Six Months in Bermuda—Sickness—More Bad Books—Life of Walter 
Scott,—Of Cowper—Fall back on Rabelais—Shakespeare for ever !—Sir Alexander 
Burnes—His Journey up the Indus—Takes Soundings for British War Steamers— 
Surveys Hyderabad with a View to British Burglary—Examines the Capacities 
of Lahore for British Cotton and Christianity—Takes the Measure of the Koh-i- 
noor in the Interests of Civilization—Band of the 42 d —Captain Alexander’s Book 
—Sickness—Medical Superintendent tells me I am going to die soon—Note to the 
Governor of Bermuda. 

Nov. 20 th, 1848. In my cell on board the Dromedary Hulk .— 
The whole convict Domdaniel is fluttered in its dove-cotes this morn¬ 
ing. Three prisoners escaped last night from the “Coromandel” 
hulk, close by my residence. There is school on board these hulks 
on certain evenings in the week, attended by such of the convicts as 
choose to learn ; and last night was school night in the “ Coromandel.” 
These three men, one after another, asked leave to go out upon the 
breakwater after dark, and as it rained furiously no guard went with 
them. They ran to that end of the breakwater which, as it juts out 
into the sea, is not guarded by a sentry, swam in their clothes across 
the entrance of the “ Camber,” and betook themselves to the country. 
Alarm was given instantly, and guards were out in all directions. 
One of the three was caught, but the two others are still at large. 
They have the range of all the islands, which are so near one another 
that one can easily swim over all the straits : and these limestone 
rocks are, of course, full of caves by the seaside, so that it may be 
difficult to find them for a while. It seems they proceeded, in the 
first place, to rob a house and store, frightening the inmates nearly 
to death, and supplying themselves with biscuit and rum : then they 
seized on a boat, and actually attempted to put to sea for North 
America. If they had once got clear of the islands they would 
probably have reached Charleston or the Chesapeake (as four convicts 
did in a common gig last year)—but their boat stuck fast upon a 


114 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


sandbank, and she was found there, abandoned, this morning. The 
men must be still upon the islands, because no other boat is missing. 
To-day the pursuit is very hot: the several telegraph stations have 
the signal hoisted all day— “pi'isoners escaped.' 1 ' 1 All boats are now 
put under surveillance ; and I suppose the unfortunate scoundrels 
must be taken. They will be simply flayed alive. 

21st. —Weary guards home to-day at daybreak,—with no trace or 
intelligence of the fugitives. The governor has now ordered out the 
troops; and every cove, cavern, and cedar-wood in his dominions 
will be thoroughly explored within twenty-four hours. It seems that 
Capt. Elliott looks upon this escape as a thing of most dangerous 
example, occurring while he is honored with the custody of me. I 
trust the wretches will get clear off; otherwise they will be savagely 
punished. 

22 d .—They are caught; and brought back in heavy irons. One of 
them was found dressed in a woman’s clothes. The Governor came 
this morning in persou to Ireland Island, though it is Sunday, to give 
special orders about the mangling of these culprits to-morrow. It is 
to be a most solemn and terrific butchery. Heretofore every delin¬ 
quent was flogged on board his own hulk : but these three men are 
to be flayed in all the three hulks, one after another, receiving twenty 
lashes in each—sixty altogether. 

Mr. Hire, the governor’s deputy, is highly important to-day: he 
always presides on such occasions, and is said rather to like them. 
He is a stern old naval officer—has been superintendent here tw^enty- 
four years—and holds that the Palladium of the British Constitution 
is a good cat of nine heavy cords, on every cord nine hard kuots. 
On this point of constitutional law I differ from him : the true 
Palladia of that immortal Constitution are a suspended Habeas 
Corpus , and a pretended Trial by Jury. 

I do not love this old naval officer, although he has always been— 
after the first day—quite courteous to me. Ancient habits, and 
twenty-four years’ supreme rule over convict desperadoes have 
given him an imperious manner: besides I always fancy that he 
exhales an odor of blood. At first he used to eye my cap uneasily 
whenever he addressed me, as if he imagined I ought to take it off, 
or at least touch it—an old Carthaginian sea-dog! But I ought not 
to call him bad names 5 for he has lent me many books, and on the 
whole is as civil to me as his nature will allow him: seems also 
reconciled to the sight of my hat upon its right place. 


MANGLING OF THE OUT-THROATS. 115 


I wish to-morrow were over. 

23c?.—The laceration is finished. The gangs are sent out to 
their work after being mustered to witness the example : the troops 
who were drawn up on the pier have marched home to their 
barracks : quarter-masters and guards have washed the blood gouts 
from their arms and faces, and arranged their dress again : the three 
torn carcases have been carried down half-dead to the several 
hospital-rooms. Though shut up in my cell all the time, I heard the 
horrid screams of one man plainly. After being lashed in the 
Medway, they had all been carried to this ship, with blankets thrown 
over their bloody backs: and the first of them, after receiving a 
dozen blows with miserable shrieks, grew weak and swooned: the 
scourging’ stopped for about ten minutes while the surgeon used 
means to revive him—and then he had the remainder of his allow¬ 
ance. lie was then carried groaning out of this ship into the 
Coromandel, instantly stripped again, and cross-scarified with other 
twenty lashes. The other two men took their punishment through¬ 
out in silence—but I heard one of them shout once fiercely to the 
quarter-master, “Don’t cut below the mark, damn you! 7 I have 
been walking up and down my cell gnawing my tongue. 

Not that I think it wrong to flog convicted felons when needful 
for preservation of discipline. But think of soldiers and sailors 
being liable to be beaten like hounds! Are high spirit and manly 
self-respect allowable feelings in soldiers and sailors ? And can 
high spirit survive the canine punishment of scourging ? In the 
Carthaginian service, indeed, those sentiments are not allowable i 
private soldiers and sailors and non-commissioned officers are not to 
consider themselves men, but machines. 

But w r hen even felons are getting mangled, I had rather, as a 
matter of personal taste, be out of hearing. 

Dec. 1st .—It is six months this morning since I sailed out of Cork 
harbor in the “ Scourge.” The weather has grown gloomy and cold. 
A Bermudian winter, though not absolutely so cold by the thci- 
mometer, is far more trying than good honest frost and snow in 
Ireland. The winds are very damp, dank, and raw, piercing thiougli 
joints and marrow. And to tell the plain truth, I am veiy ill, and 
do not sleep o’ nights for nearly two months I have had very con¬ 
stant and severe asthma, especially by night; and have been tally 
thrice in every week, one week with another, obliged to sit on a 
chair all night through—and that in the dark, and the cold. 1 am 


lie 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


grown ghastly tliin, and my voice weak. I am like a sparrow alone 
• upon the house-tops—Courage! 

Dec. 2d. —The admiral’s ship has arrived again at Bermuda from 
Halifax, accompanied by the Scourge steamer. He will spend the 
depth of winter at the West Indies, come back to Bermuda in Spiing, 
and then to Halifax for the following summer—so that it appears, 
an admiral on the North American station can always choose his 
climate anywhere within fifty degrees of latitude, and enjoy summer 
air and summer-fruits all the year round—I wish the fine old fellow 
his health. 

I have omitted, of late, to set down the titles of—for want of a 
better name I must call them— books, that I have been reading these 
past months:—chiefly because they are such utter offal that there is 
no use in remembering so much as their names. Madame Pichler’s 
Siege of Vienna (Sobieski’s Siege—a grand page of history spun out 
into many hundred pages of pitiful romance, and interwoven with a 
love story), a life of Walter Scott, by one Allan, advocate ; wherein 
the said advocate takes superior ground, looking down, as it were, 
ex cathedra upon his subject, searching out the genesis, and tracing 
the development of this or the other power or faculty in that popular 
writer ; and thus, by philosophic histoire raisonnee, informing us 
how it fell out, to the best of his, the advocate’s, knowledge, that 
Walter Scott came to write the books he did, and at the times of his 
life, and after the fashion he did—Good Heaven! what a knowing 
age we have the luck to live in !—In truth the book is very pre¬ 
sumptuous and very stupid; yet it is far excelled in both those 
respects by another I am reading now,—a life of Cowper, by Dr. 
Mcmes (bookseller’s hack literator of that name). Not that the 
writer is "without genius ; for he has succeeded in making a book as 
repulsive as it is possible for a book giving anything like a 
narrative of Cowper’s life to be. 

And have I read no books then, save bad ones ? That I have ! 
amongst those sent to me from home is an old Dublin copy of 
Rabelais, in four volumes, imprinted by Philip Crampton, of Dame 
street;—and it has kept me in good wholesome laughter for a fort¬ 
night—laughter of the sort that agitates the shoulders, and shakes 
the diaphragm, and makes the blood tingle ; than which no medicine 
can be more cordial to me,—I have read the cause of his effects in 
Galen. With Shakespeare also I hold much gay and serious inter¬ 
course ; and I have read, since coming here, three or four dialogues 


117 


BUliNES’ JOUItNEY IN SOINDE. 

of Plato, with the critical diligence of a junior sophister. The 
Politeia, indeed, as a gentle exercise of my mind, I am writing out 
in literal, bald English ; which I do chiefly with a view to compel 
myself to read the Greek accurately, and not gobble it bones and all. 

One of the last books I have laid hands on is Lieutenant Burnes’s 
(afterwards Sir Alexander Burnes) Journey through Bokhara and 
Voyage up the Indus. And not to speak of the intrinsic merits of 
the work as a narrative of travel, which merits are moderate, it has 
become remarkable on account of events which have befallen since 
its publication. This Burnes was sent to those countries (in plain 
English) as a spy—to make observations and get intelligence which 
should be available to the Anglo-Indian government in the project 
they had of invading, civilizing, plundering, clothing in cotton, and 
finally subduing Lahore and Cabool. That I may not forget this 
performance, I will take here some extracts from it: they may be 
useful to me if I ever write—and hoc erat in votis —an account of 
the Carthaginian power in India. 

Old Runjeet Singh, magnificent old Maha Raja, was still alive; 
and the pretext of Mr. Burnes’s journey was to convey to him a 
present of some English cart-horses, from Bombay. The direct, easy, 
and usual road to Lahore was, of course, by Loodianah, and across 
the Sutledge 5 but one main business of Burnes was to explore the 
Lower Indus, and ascertain whether it was navigable for British 
steamers from the sea. Now the Ameers or chieftains of Scinde (the 
country lying on the lower part of the river’s course) were at that 
time not only free of British protection, but fully resolved to continue 
so ; and so they jealously watched, and indeed were rather likely to 
detain English travellers therefore says Burnes—“ That a better 
color might be given to my deputation by a route so unfrequented, I 
was made the bearer of presents to the Ameers of Scinde .” But 
the Ameers did not well understand : they were somehow suspicious 
of this Sinon with his cart-horses : besides, there was a treaty under 
which no English were to attempt to navigate the Indus without 
leave ; and in short, Mr. Burnes and his party were delayed a good 
while about the river’s mouth, while the Hydrabad Ameer negotiated, 
evaded, and gained time. Nothing, in the meantime, could be fairer 
than Mr Burnes’s language : he gave to one Zoolfkar Shah, an agent 
of the Ameer, assurances which might have satisfied any reasonable 
barbarian. For “ I told him,” says the lieutenant, “ that he had 
formed a very erroneous opinion of the British character if ho 


118 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


considered that I had been sent here in breach of a treaty : for I had 
cezne to strengthen the bonds of union ; and, what was further, that 
the promise of an officer was sacred .”—Satisfactory, surely, to hear 
this from the officers own lips. 

On their passage up the Indus—when at length they were allowed 
to go up—they found (what the English always find in every country 
they have a mind to)—that the people were cruelly treated by their 
native government, and would wish to receive the British with open 
arms, if the villainous Ameers would only allow them :—“ We saw 
much of the people, who w'ere disposed from the first to treat us 
more kindly than the government. * * * They complained much 

of their rulers aud of the ruinous and oppressive system of taxation, 
&c. &c.” Some of them, however, appear to have known better, 
especially the priests and holy men. At one place, “ A Syud stood 
at the water’s edge : he turned to his companion as we passed, and in 
the hearing of one of our party said, ‘ Alas! Scinde is now gone 5 
since the English have seen the river, which is the road to its con¬ 
quest.’ If such an event do happen,” continues Burnes, “ I am 
certain that the body of the people will hail the happy day.” In 
the nineteenth century, you know, one would not think of invading 
and laying waste any country, except for its own good—to develop 
its resources as it were. 

Well; we know that happy day has since dawned upon Scinde. 
Instead of hailing it, to be sure the “ body of the people,” forgetting 
their true interest, fought desperately, at Meeanee, to put off the day ; 
but Sir Charles Napier made them happy whether they would or no, 
and out of pure zeal for their amelioration, cut a great many of their 
throats. 

Burnes gets to Hyderabad ; and describes it professionally, with a 
view to the future interests of civilizationas thus—fort “ a mere 
shell —ditch 10 feet wide, by 8 deep—walls twenty-five feet high, 
but going to decay. In short he says, “ Hyderabad is a place of no 
strength, and might readily be captured by escalade. In the centre 
of the fort there is a massive tower , unconnected with the works, 
vhich overlooks the surrounding country. Here are deposited a 
great portion of the riches of Scinde.” This tower and its contents 
interest the worthy officer much : again he sets it in his “ Memoir 
of the Indus,” a kind of appendix to the work, like a well-trained 
setter, thus—“ The treasure’’—that is the public treasury of the 
country—“it is said, amounts to about twenty millions sterling, 


RECONNAISSANCE FOE BURGLARY. 


119 


thirteen of which are in money, and the remainder in jewels : the 
greater portion of this cash lies deposited in the fort of Hydera¬ 
bad ”—which might be so readily taken by escalade. And sure 
enough, the British did, in due course, take Hyderabad and rob the 
tower. The plunder of that place, however, fell far short of their 
spy’s estimate, for it amounted only to one round million of pounds 
sterling: but even this was no bad booty for one town. 

Nothing made so deep an impression on Mr. Burnes as any display 
of wealth on the part of the natives. When he arrived at Khyrpore, 
higher up the river than Hyderabad, the Ameer there treated him 
and his party with lavish and costly hospitality 5 sent to his quarters 
provisions for one hundred and fifty persons daily,—also, twice a 
day, a meal of seventy-two dishes,—and, says Burnes, “ they were 
served in silver .” In Khyrpore, as usual, he found the people sorely 
dissatisfied with their rulers ; “ nor is the feeling,” says he, “ dis¬ 
guised : many a fervent hope did we hear expressed in every part of 
the country, that we were the fore-runners of conquest, the advanced 
guard of a conquering army.” Mr. Burnes, however, would by no 
means admit such an idea ; and showed much maidenly modesty in 
combating such seductive advances for example, the vizier of one 
Meer Roostum Khan came to him to offer alliance, and began pro¬ 
testing that he might as well do so in time—“ for it was foretold by 
astronomers and recorded in books, that the English would in time 
possess all India. * * * When the British would ask why the 

chief of Khyrpore had not come forward with an offer of allegiance— 
I tried,” quoth Mr. Burnes, “ to remove, but without effect, the sad 
prognostications of the minister.” As he writes this, he winks his 
eye to the British reader, and the British reader twigs. 

Higher up still, they came to the country of the Daoodpootras; 
and there again the Khan received them with profuse hospitality. 
“He was attended,” says Burnes, u by about a thousand peisons, and 
I observed that he distributed money as he passed along” To Mr. 
Burnes himself this Khan sent valuable presents, and two thousand 
rupees in money ) and at parting, Burnes told the honest Khan that 
he would certainly not forget him— 11 1 assured him, what I felt most 
sincerely, that I should long remember his kindness and hospitality.” 
But it would have been far better for the Khan if Burnes had forgotten 

him. . .. 

At length they approached Lahore, and at the frontier were waited 

on by Seik officers of Runjeet Singh, bringing welcome and presents. 


120 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


“ Each individual delivered a purse of money in gold and silver, and 
by his Highness’s desire asked for the health of the King of England, 
and the period that had elapsed since we left London ; for the 
Maharaja, it seemed, believed us to have been deputed from the 
royal footstool. I replied as circumstances required .” 

There was no end to the wealth Mr. Burnes saw in Lahore—the 
money, the silver chains, the gold bedsteads, the jewels, rich hangings, 
silkeii carpets, Cashmere shawls—dazzling even to read of. And so, 
having solemnly presented his cart-horses, and made careful inventory 
of all the valuables he could see, and the weak points of strong places, 
the prudent lieutenant now returned to Bombay, across the Sutledge, 
presented his report, and got his meed of praise and his captain’s 
commission. 

Soon, however, he was seized with an intense desire to visit the 
Punjab again, and to penetrate to Cabool and Bokhara. There were 
at that time two ex-kings of Cabool, Shah Zemaun and Shoojah-ool- 
Moolk, living in India, as pensioners of the British ; and it was in 
contemplation to restore some one of these injured monarchs to his 
rights—their English protectors, indeed, were not just sure which — 
but the state of Cabool, and the terms to which the exiled monarchs 
would respectively submit;—in short, “ circumstances ” would deter¬ 
mine that point. It was, therefore, above all things, needful for the 
Anglo-Indian government to get full information about Cabool, and 
the road thither, and the practicable passes, and the force and dispo¬ 
sition of the Affghan tribes. Mr. Burnes, too, had quite an amiable 
school-boy enthusiasm about the “ Conquests of Alexander ”—about 
“ the scene of romantic achievements which he had read of in early 
youth,” and so forth. In one word, a clever spy was wanted, and 
this romantic lieutenant was the very man. 

Mr. Burnes, therefore, was again furnished with an outfit, and 
“passports as a captain of the British army returning to Europe 
—not that he had any notion of really returning to Europe, but the 
story would serve well enough to tell the barbarians: for what could 
be more natural than that a British captain should take the overland 
route on his return to his native country ? 

This time Capt. Burnes went straight across the Sutledge into 
Lahore ; and was again received with frank hospitality by brave old 
Runjeet: who made, however, inconveniently minute inquiries. 
“ Runjeet made the most particular inquiries regarding our journey; 
and since it was no part of my object to develop the entire plans we 


BUENES SETS THE KOH-I-NOOR. 


121 


had in view, we informed his Highness that we were proceeding to¬ 
wards our native country.” In short, they told him they were going 
straight to England ; for Burnes immediately adds “ He requested me 
to take a complimentary letter to the King of England.” The phrase 
“ it was no part of my object to develop,” &c., is the gallant gentle¬ 
man's mode of saying, that being a spy he told such lies as suited his 
purpose. 

After feasting his eyes again upon the gold and jewels of Lahore, 
Burnes proceeds across the Indus into Cabool. The king, Dost 
Mohammed, he always takes care to style in his book the “ chiet ” 
remembering that the true king was in fact one of the two Indian 
pensioners, or somebody else, who might suit the views of generous 
England. Burnes was presented to this “ chief,” who asked much 
after Runjeet Singh and his power—“for sparing whose country,” 
says the traveller, “ he gave us no credit. He wished to know if we 
had designs upon Cabool.” No answer is recorded to this simple 
question; but we may be sure the answer was such as circumstances 

required. 

One is grieved to find that so intelligent a traveller found much 
falsehood, insincerity, and want of candor amongst the Asiatics. 
“ With every disposition,” he says, “ to judge favorably of Asiatics 
—and my opinions regarding them improved as I knew them better 

_I have not found them free from falsehood : I fear, therefore, that 

many a false oath is taken amongst them.” What a painful thought 
to an European! 

I had almost forgotten the Koh-i-noor. It was in the first journey, 
when Mr. Burnes was admitted to his “audience of leave” of 
Runjeet Singh, he bethought himself that although he had seen gold 
and silver enough in all conscience to justify British « intervention ” 
in the affairs of the Punjab, he had not yet beheld with his own eyes 
that monstrous diamond, in itself worth a king’s ransom. Therefore 
“ in compliance,” he says, “ with a wish I expressed, he produced the 
Koh-i-noor, or mountain of light, one of the largest diamonds in the 
world, which he had extorted from Shah Shoojah, the ex-king oj 
Cabool”— the very man we are supporting by a pension—so that 
the diamond as good as belongs to us. “ Nothing.” exclaims Mr. 
Burnes, “ can be imagined more superb than this stone : it is of the 
finest water, and is about half the size of an egg. Its weight 
amounts to 3% rupees ; and if such a jewel is to be valued, I am 
informed it is worth 3k millions of money: but this is a gross 

b 


122 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


exaggeration.” Certainly, it was important to have all the par¬ 
ticulars in the matter of such a diamond as this,—a main part of the 
resources of Lahore, afterwards to be developed by British energy. 
It was the size of half an egg : its weight was accurately ascertained 
by the commonest silver coin :—but lest there should be any mistake 
he adds, “ The Koh-i-noor is set as an armlet, with a diamond on 
each side about the size of a sparrow’s egg.’ ’ Thus it was made 
pretty certain that in any future sack or plunder of Lahore, the 
rudest soldier going in there, to see what he could develop, should 
not fail to indentify the Mountain of Light. The Maharaja also 
showed him a large ruby weighing fourteen rupees, a topaz as large 
as half a billiard-ball—showed him enough, in short, to awaken the 
sympathies of the British public in favor of Lahore. 

The last thing I heard of the Mountain of Light was, that it was 
safe “ under the protection of British bayonets.”* 

There is no need to follow Captain Burnes through Cabool and 
Bokhara, or to copy the prudent remarks he everywhere makes upon 
the strength of defences, and the booty to be expected in cities. He 
acquitted himself like a cunning serviceable spy, gave satisfaction to 
the gang of robbers he belonged to ; and as all the world knows 
was, at last, put to death by Akbar Khan’s people during the first 
British invasion of Cabool; justly put to death by the indignant 
people as a detected spy and ungrateful traitor, which he was. The 
British, as usual, called the transaction “ insurrection ” and 
“ murder.” 

But the most amusing portion of this whole book, is that which 
sets forth the gallant officer’s views about pushing a sale of British 
soft goods in Asia. For a thoroughbred British spy must be also a 
kind of “ commercial traveller j” and besides his reconnaissances, 
taken for purposes of pure brigandage, he must be cunning in cotton 
patterns, wise in the statistics of turban-cloths and shawls, and must 
ascertain where consignments of divers sorts of fabrics may be 
successfully poured in. Having maturely studied this subject, 
Burnes recommends that the fabrics of Tatta, Mooltan, &c., be 
copied in England—" as we did,” says he, “ the chintzes of India,”— 
“ We may then,” he says, “ supersede the lingering remnants of trade 

* But the very last is that the Mountain of Light was exhibited in the London 
Crystal Palace, as a jewel of Queen Victoria’s. So that poor Shall Shoojah has got 
neither kingdom nor diamond. 


in those cities.” The policy of British traffic in the East has always 
been to make low-priced counterfeits of all native manufactures,— 
at first, of good serviceable quality, until the genuine maker was 
thrust out of the market,—then gradually “ pouring in ” worse and 
worse Manchester rubbish, so as to effectually cheat the consumer, 
starve the artisan, and ruin the employers. It is needful to keep in 
mind the shabby history of this business in order to understand some 
of the gallant commercial gent's speculations :—and I remember 
that the most striking picture of the dismal effects produced by that 
roguish policy in India is to be found in Bishop Heber’s Narrative. 
Dacca and other places in Bengal, once vast and flourishing manu¬ 
facturing cities, employing many tens of thousands of Hindoo 
artisans, and working up the Indian cotton into those fine textures 
with which they supplied Europe and Asia sixty years ago,—are 
now, for the greater part, only jungle-matted ruins where wild beasts 
of the desert dwell, and jackalls make night hideous :—worse, if 
possible, than the Liberty of Dublin : the miserable natives perish 
of famine by thousands every year: the cotton is exported 10,000 
miles to be woven in Manchester, and re-imported in the' shape of 
such indecent printed rags as the poor devils are now able to buy :— 
insomuch that cunning British commerce is beginning to find it has 
by its very greediness overdone the system. Accordingly Mr. 
Burnes, while he shows how to cut out the manufacturers of Lahore, 
takes care to say—“ I do not touch upon the policy of supplanting 
still f urther the trade of India . 11 —Because the people there are 
already brought to the starvation point, and below the clotkes- 
wearing condition, where one’s customers cease to be profitable, even 
for one’s very vilestfabrics.” 

This epauletted bagman has given, plainly enough, the history of 
the usual British procedure in one case. “ The Chintz of Moultan,” 
he says, u was formerly exported to Persia : but in its competition 
with the British article the manufacture has almost ceased. The 
European article, when first introduced , about twelve yeais ago, 
was sold for twelve rupees per yard, and may now be had for as many 
annas, or one sixteenth of its original value. The Moultan manufac¬ 
turers, being unable to reduce their prices to so low a standard, find 
little sale for the goods.” And how comes it, one may ask, that the 
British manufacturer can reduce his prices to so low a standard, pro¬ 
ducing his goods, as he does, in a very highly taxed country, and 
charged, as he, is with freight half round the globe and back again? 


124 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


How ? "Why, first, by starving the artisans, of the West, and then by 
cheating the people of the East: he can keep down his prices in no 
other way than by making bad articles, and cutting down wages : so 
that the extension of this traffic is no gain, but loss, to British arti¬ 
sans, who have the honor, indeed to “ clothe the world,” but go 
without whole shirts themselves. The beneficent spirit (you know) of 
peaceful commerce, which binds in a golden chain (so the phrase 
runs) most distant regions, &c. 

On the whole, the gallant gent recommends the pouring in of 
“ woollens,” to Lahore and Affghanistan. About silks he hesitates, 
fearing they might not answer yet ; but adds, “ I do not of course 
include brocade, which is at present imported.” Watches, cutlery, 
jewellery, or glass, he hardly recommends for the present—but 
“ ardent spirits ” would be brought to a better market.” “ It is 
true,” he tells us, “ the Punjabecs still prefer the fiery drink of their 
own soil.” This is sad ; but if some good cheap British gin, with 
plenty of aqua fortis in it, were poured in, who knows but we might 
supersede their fiery drink ? 

So did Captain Burnes approve himself a prudent and serviceable 
spy, and that in respect of all the several matters cognizable by a true 
British spy. In his capacity of geographical traveller, under pretext 
of carrying presents, he took soundings of the Indus for British 
steamers. As a commercial traveller he explored new markets, and 
made himself learned in patterns and textures, to be counterfeited by 
the British weaver : and as a mere brigand scout, he took notes of the 
amount of plunder to be got, marked the exact spots where every 
good booty was to be found, and estimated the strength of walls 
bolts, and bars, with a view to future British burglarious operations. 

The troops are forming on the parade-ground, and I must quit 
Captain Burnes to listen to the music : “Ireland” Island, instead of 
St. George’s, was sometime since made the head-quarter of the 42d 
tor my sole sake : and therefore their splendid band plays here for 
my peculiar solacemcnt. Ihcre are two fine bands now at the dock- 
yard, one of them belonging to the “Wellesley” flagship: and the 
land and the waters utter delicious strains, sole or responsive. 

So much for the waltz-music of the 42d. And by an odd chance, 
the very next book I took up, after “ Burnes’ Travels,” was “ Sketches 
in Portugal during the Civil War of 1834,” by Captain Alexander, 
ol the same 42d—another military commercial traveller, though far 
less dexterous and intelligent than Burnes. lie had been engaged by 


OAPT. ALEXANDER OF THE 42 D. 125 

the Royal Geographical Society to go to Southeastern Africa and 
make “ researches ’’ there ; and, in the first place, proceeded to Por¬ 
tugal to get papers, maps, passports, and other furtherances, to enable 
him to traverse the Portuguese possessions with advantage. This 
captain’s book, as a book, is worth simply nothing; and I should 
never have written down the title of it but for the sake of two sen¬ 
tences, at which I have laughed. I will extract them for the sake of 
another laugh some future day. The gallant officer is much cheered 
by the thought of all the good that his mission will do the poor 
Africans, especially in a moral point of view. He says : “ For the 
philanthropic and patriotic mind no prospect can be more agreeable 
than that of seeing the interest of the African tribes attended to, the 
arts of civilized life introduced amongst them,—then the mild spirit 
of Christianity; from all which will most assuredly flow wealth and 
prosperity to our own native land.” And this is only reasonable. 
One would not surely give one’s Christianity to the savages for 
nothing. 

The other sentence I take from the Christian missionary’s specu¬ 
lations on soft goods—“ Show a Turk a fast-colored silk for twelve 
piastres, and show him another not with fast colors (and brighter 
because it is not so fast); explain to him the difference between them, 
and tell him he may have the last piece for six piastres, which will 
he take ? Undoubtedly not the twelve piastre piece.” It is not very 
clear to me that if this missionary commercial captain and man- 
milliner were actually chaffering with the Turk in the case supposed, 
he would feel quite bQund to explain to his customer the whole of the 
difference between the pieces—that is if the cheap and bad piece were 
the more profitable to sell, which is usually the case with British goods. 

How this pettifogging, huckstering nation degrades the profession 
of arms, making its officers common riders for Lancashire weavers! 
Why not let mill-owners employ their own bagmen—as they did Mr. 
Lander, who was commissioned to explore central Africa for customers 
by one or two private merchants. This W’ould keep military officers 
minding their own business, and a huge amount of dreary letterpress 
would be spared the human race. 

Surely, amongst other great benefits which the next European war 
will confer on the family of mankind, not the least will be the sus¬ 
pension of military and naval authorship for a time—and perhaps the 
changing of those gentlemen’s tone and tune for all time. 

I have read no Greek for six days ; and begin to fear that in pre- 


126 


.TAIL JOURNAL. 


tending to myself I loved Plato and yEschylus I was no better than 
an impostor. Enough of books—I would give all the books I ever 
read for a pair of lungs that would work. 

Dec. 3 d. —Another red morning has dawned, and finds me sitting, 
bent down on my chair, with weary limbs and dizzy brain, worn 
out with another night’s long agony. It is the twelfth night since 
my head has pressed my pillow—Almighty God !—is the angel Sleep 
to visit me never more ? All night in darkness, I have wrestled 
with a strong fiend in this cell—other wrestling than Jacob’s at 
Penupl—and now at sunrise, when I can breathe somewhat more 
freely, the sense of deadly weariness comes upon me heavily. My 
feet are cold as marble : my body and head bathed in sweat. I look 
at my image in the glass, and verily believe my mother would 
hardly know me : my eyes have the wild fearful stare that one may 
imagine in the eyes of a hard-hunted hare, couched and gasping in 
her form ; a cold dew stands in beads upon my forehead ; my cheeks 
are shrunk and livid ; my fingers have become like bird’s claws, “ and 
on mine eyelids is the shadow of death.”—The Asthma demon has 
fled westward, keeping within the great shadow of the world,— 
riding in darkness like Satan. Ah! he will put a girdle round the 
earth, and be with me again at set of sun.—All tortured and weary 
wretches, all exiles, and captives, long for the night; and the 
ambrosial night brings them Lethean balm, and liberty, and home,— 
for those few blessed hours they may have back their youth, and 
tread their native land, and see the sweet eyes of those who love 
them.-And to me- 

But this, after all, is an unprofitable line of observation. If I once 
begin to write down my “ grievances,” I will but think the more of 
them. And I am resolved not to listen to myself on that topic. 
Moreover, if the night was bad the morning is glorious, and is 
flooding the earth with heavenly splendor :—the heavy sighing of 
the wet sea-wind has sunk ; and the waves that dismally tumbled 
and plashed all night against the ship’s side, are now but a gentle 
ripple, trembling in the warm sunshine. It is a deep calm. 

Slowly and painfully I prepared myself to go out; and have now 
basked in the sun for an hour on the pier. These December days 
(though the nights be cold) are as bright and warm as July days in 
Ireland. No wretchedness, on this side despair, could resist the 
soothing power of such a sky and scene, such Favonian airs and blue 
gentle seas. Strains of soft music trom the band of the flagship in 




TDREATE N>E D WITH DEATH. 


127 


the bay come floating on the still air ; and the cedar-tufted 
Bermoothes, with their white cottages and dark groves, are like a 
dream of Elysian tropic islands where the Hesperian golden fruitage 
grows. Surely there is mercy in the Heavens : there is hope for 
mortal men. I am strong ; I am well. Soul and body are refreshed ; 
and I can meet again, and conquer again the demon that walketh in 
darkness. 

Dr. Hall, the medical superintendent, came to see me to-day in 
consequence of the continued reports made by the surgeon of this 
ship of my continued illness. In truth, for more than two months I 
have been almost constantly ill, and that to a degree which I had no 
idea of in all my life before, though an asthmatic patient of ten 
years standing. Dr. Hall told me plainly I could not expect to 
improve in health at all in this climate, especially in confinement 
that Bermuda is notoriously and excessively unfriendly to asthmatic 
persons; and that I must grow worse and worse until my frame 
breaks down altogetherin short, that if I be kept here much 
longer I must die. 

a And is it,” I asked, “ a settled part of the transportation system 
that an invalid is to be confined to that penal colony, of all others, 
which is most likely to kill him—I am sure the English have convict 
establishments in many other countries’” 

« The government,” said he, “ never make any distinction of that 

hind_I assure you many hundreds of men have died here, who need 

not have died if I could have had them removed to a more healthy 
climate.” 

“ Is there no escape for me, then?” 

« Why, with respect to you, I do think something may be done. 
And in fact I have come to you to-day to urge it upon you to make 
the necessary exertion for this purpose. You must absolutely apply 
for your removal, or at least be taken out of this strict and solitary 

confinement.” 

it p; u t I have never,” I answered, “ since they made a felon of mo, 
asked for any kind of indulgence or mitigation. I was prepared for 
the worst the government could do to me : and live or die, I cannot 
make any appeal ad misericordiam .” 

“No,” said the doctor, “ but write to the governor informing him 
of your state of health ; tell him I have announced to you that you 
cannot live under your present circumstances, and refer to me for 
my report.” 


128 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


“ And why not tell him all this yourself? You know it.” 

“ I cannot. I cannot. The form must be complied with. I must 
not interfere officially, unless upon reference regularly made to me— 
and that can only be done when you bring the thing under the notice 
of the governor formally.” 

“By my own autograph?—a petition in short. Well, then, Dr. 
Hall, to you personally I am of course grateful for the kind feeling 
that makes you urge this point as you do. But I will never, by 
throwing myself on the mercy of the English Government, confess 
myself to be a felon. I will not belie my whole past life and present 
feelings. I will not eat dirt.” 

The doctor w’as now going to leave me, but came back from the 
door, up to where I sat, and laid his hand upon my shoulder. 1 saw 
that tears stood in the good old man’s eyes. “ And are you going,” 
he said, “ to let yourself be closed up here till you perish a convict, 
when by so slight an effort you could—as I am sure you could— 
procure not only your removal but probably your release? You are 
still young : you have a right to look forward to a long life yet with 
your family in freedom and honor. W? ite to the governor in some 
form—a simple letter will do ; and I know he wishes to exert himself 
in this matter if it be brought before him so as to justify his interfer¬ 
ence. Take your pen now and write.” 

“I will write something,” I said, “but not now. I wall think of it, 
and try to make it possible for the governor and you to procure my 
removal, seeing my actual MS. is essential to that end.” 

After leaving the cell he returned to say I should be sure to give 
Captain Elliott his proper title as governor. I answered that I 
believed the gentleman was, out of all doubt, governor of Bermuda, 
and that of course I would address him properly. So the doctor 
left me. 

If a man were in the hands of a gang of robbers—I mean mere 
ordinary unconstitutional highwaymen—and if he were cooped up in 
a close pestilential crib, the oubliette of their cavern, would he not 
call out for more air ?—and would his so calling out amount to an 
admission that when they waylaid and robbed him they served him 
right,—or an acknowledgment of their title to rob on that road!—I 
trow not. 

I am not sentenced to death. If the pirates put me to death by 
this ingenious method, it would be well at least to let the proceed¬ 
ing be known abroad. Not that I think they really want to kill 


LETTER TO THE GOVERNOR. 


129 


me ;* and possibly they would, even be glad of some excuse to extend 
“ mercy ” to me—the rascals! At all events I will take care to ask 
for no mitigation of my sentence—still less “ pardon,” but demand 
only that I shall not be murdered by a slow process of torture. 
To-morrow I will do somewhat. Ah ! if the life or death of this poor 
carcase only were at stake-- 

Dec. 4tth. Several newspapers have come to hand; also Blackwood’s 
Magazine for October. Blackwood has a long article on Irish affairs, 
which pleases me much. For they say it is now clear the British 
Constitution, with its trial-by-jury and other respectable institutions, 
is no way suited to Ireland—that even the Whigs have found out 
this truth at last,—that they, the Blackwood-men, always said so ; and 
who will contradict them now ?—that Ireland is to be kept in order 
simply by bayonets : and that when the vile Celts are sufficiently 
educated and improved, they may then perhaps aspire to be admitted 
to the pure blessings of, &c., &c. 

This is quite right, friend Christopher—we ought to have nothing 
to do with your Constitution, as you call it, until, as you say, we 
know how to use it: which, under bayonet tuition is a secret we 
cannot but learn, I trust, at last.—And then we will certainly use it 
after its deserts. 

So I am to write to day to this British governor of Bermuda—and 
respectfully too. Indeed if I write to Captain Elliott at all I am no 
way entitled to address him otherwise than respectfully. On my 
arrival here, when he dispatched my first letter to my wife, ho had 
the courtesy to write to her himself to set her mind at ease as much 
as he could. 

I have written. The letter is superscribed “ To his Excellency the 
Governor of Bermuda—it merely contains a statement about my 
health, with reference to the medical superintendent, and suggests 
that “ as I am not sentenced to death,” it might be well to get some 
change made in my position, either by removal to a more healthy 
climate or otherwise, “ so that I may be enabled physically to endure 
the term of transportation to which I am sentenced. 

As this document docs not call itself a petition or memorial, and 
does not end with a promise to pray, possibly the governor may 
decline to notice it, yet I think he will use his influence to have me 
removed ; and if he suggests this to the London government, policy 

* I now think differently; the reason will appear in the sequel.—J. M. 

6 * 



130 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


will probably incline them to mitigate the atrocity of their outrage. 
Let me but escape out of their clutches with my life, and I will let 
them hear of my gratitude for all their policy to me. 

At any rate the letter has been dispatched to government house ; 
and in a great hurry, lest I should rue and not send it at all. There 
is sore humiliation in stooping to ask anything of these pirates—even 
air that I can breathe. 

True, a man captured by Malays or Greeks, or other buccaneering 
rovers, would think it no shame to do thus much or more, for life or 
liberty : and this simple note may save my life or gain my liberty. 
Yet it has cost me a grievous effort. I feel the wrong done to me 
tripled since enforcing myself to condescend so far—and if it pleases 
God, to whom vengeance belongeth, to award to me my share, then 
by God’s help I will have additional revenge for this. 

Two months will bring me the result. Till then I must keep aching 
body and panting soul together as best I may. 


/ 



V 


THE 


131 


“first mate.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

The “ First Mate”—Goethe never in the Galleys—Prospect of a Ship for the Cape 
of Good Hope—■“ Trial ” and Doom of O’Doherty—The Catholic Clergy—Christ¬ 
mas on board the “ Dromedary ”—News of Election of Louis Napoleon for Presi¬ 
dent—Deadly Sickness, and Living against Time—Literary Deposit, in Six Strata 
—Uses of Bad Books—Metaphysics—Bermuda a School of Reformation—Irish 
Prisoners graduate for the Gallows—Criminal Jurisprudence—A Plea for the 
Drop—Prayer for the Soul of Walter Scott—Order to dispatch me to the Cape— 
A “ Spirit of Disaffection ” in Ireland still—Sad! 

Tiie “ first mate ” has been with me inquiring after my health. He 
rather suspects me, I believe, of malingering. This old fellow is very 
voluble in his talk, believes himself to possess great conversational 
power, and is ready to give his opinion (being a Londoner) upon every 
subject;—gives it as his decided opinion that the thing which ails me 
must be “ something internalasked me earnestly how I thought I 
had contracted this illness. I told him if it was not by skating 
against the wind in Flanders , I could not think what else it wasn’t 
—“ And a very likely way too,” said the first mate. 

Dec. 8th. —I have been wasting my time sadly for three months— 
doing, learning, thinking, stark nothing. There is surely no necessity 
on me to live this worthless life, even in a hulk. By idleness I am 
helping the sickness that saps my strength. The chafing spirit devours 
the flesh: the blade rusts and consumes its scabbard. This very 
possibility of getting shortly removed hence has restrained me from 
writing to Ireland for the books I wantand books and writing are 
the only occupation I can think of in my solitude. In truth, I did 
deem myself stronger than I find myself to be—stronger in body and 
mind: thought I could live wisely, calmly, and be sufficient unto 
myself in my own strength of quiet endurance, into whatsoever 
profoundest depths of penal horror the enemy might plunge me. To 
do and to be all this, I apprehend, needs more training than I have 
yet undergone. To attain the maximum strength, whether of mind 


132 


.TAIL JOURNAL. 


or body, you require exercise, aciajcts, education of every muscle and 
limb, of every faculty and sense. Sometimes I strive to guess what 
Goethe, that great artist in living well, would recommend, by way of 
institutio vitas to a man in a hulk, ridden by the asthma fiend. But 
that sage relied too much, perhaps, on physical agencies, and the 
ennobling influences that come to us from objects of sense and taste, 
and the creations of highest Art—to be of much use in cases like 
these. The pleasant country set apart for learning how to live, in 
Wilhelm Meister’s Wanderjahr—with its stately repose and its ele¬ 
gant instrumentalities, material and spiritual, for making human life 
godlike, is as far out of my reach here as Utopia. Goethe, I think, 
never tried the galleys. One could wish he had ; that so hulked men 
might have the spiritual use and meaning of the hulking world deve¬ 
loped in transcendental wise, to help their solitary researches in all 
their convict generations. But, indeed, he made it one of the rules 
of his owu life to shun all violent shocks, rude impressions, harsh 
noises and the like : a temper that his nervous mother gave him, they 
say : at any rate, he nursed and petted himself in that refined sensi¬ 
tiveness 5 and thereby surely excluded himself from at least one-half 
the experiences of this world, so harsh and rude. If he had been 
bolted in fetters of iron, and whirled away to the galleys with a 
loaded pistol at his qgr, he might have found the impression rather 
strong : but who can tell what he might have learned, to teach other 
men ? Who can measure our loss herein ? 

I venture to dogmatize further—that by reason of this very system 
of his, living the easy half only of life, this Goethe fails of being the 
prophet, preacher and priest, that a certain apostle of his in these 
days affirms he is. 

That other prophet, who preceded both Goethe and Mohammed, 
did not shun disagreeable impressions : he fasted forty days, and 
then fought and vanquished the devil and his angels :—the sweat of 
his passion was as drops of blood :—he w T as spitefully entreated— 
struck with the palms of ruffian hands—scourged like a convict as he 
was. He sounded the bass string of human misery and shame,— 
insomuch that it is possible—I do not peremptorily dogmatize here— 
it is possible, that by intense contemplation of the character, passion 
and death of that prophet, more perfectly than by any other spiritual 
training, man may serenely conquer the flesh and the sense, defy the 
devil, and triumph gloriously over pain and death. 

Dec. 18 th. —I learn that a ship is to arrive at Bermuda, eariy next 


o’doherty and williams. 


13 ? 


year, carrying a cargo of convicts from London, with orders to 
deposit them here, and then proceed to the Cape of Good Hope with 
another similar cargo, made up of “ recommended ” prisoners from 
Bermuda, to be selected from amongst those who have gone through 
most of their terms of sentence. When these arrive at the Cape they 
are to be set at liberty by what is termed “ ticket of leave.” How will 
the Cape colony relish this consignment of miscreants—to be let 
loose in their fine country ? I suppose they have no voice in the 
matter. The man in Downing street is their divine Providence ; and 
they must submit to the inscrutable dispensations of the clerks in 
that office. 

Seeing this shipload is actually to be sent, however, it may possibly 
occur to my keepers in England, that as I am not likely to die here 
without remark, they had better send me to the Cape. I should like 
it well: that colony has a noble climate : I should be in some sort at 
liberty ; and if likely to be kept there many years, I could bring out 
all my household ; and actually live through my captivity, instead 
of suffering a daily and nightly death-in-life, as I do here. 

“ Scarce half I seem to live—dead more than half 
And buried— 

Myself my sepulchre,—a moving grave.” 

_Fresh air, free motion, books, solitude without bars and gratings, 

employment on my own ground, as a vine-dresser and a husband¬ 
man, and in teaching my boys—and the sweet society of all that are 
dearest to me. I will speak to Dr. Hall about it: he may suggest 
the thing to the Governor, who may suggest it to the Colonial 
Secretary. If I must be a prisoner— or while I must—there could 
be no more tolerable imprisonment than this. 

O’Doherty of the Irish Tribune, I see, has also been sentenced to 
ten years’ transportation—and what then can have become of his 
colleague, Williams ? There is not one word about him in the paper 
I haveseen. Perhaps he has died in prison. The jury in O’Doherty’s 
case was also closely packed. 

Some Catholic clergymen have drawn up and presented to Lord 
Clarendon a respectful address, humbly deprecating the packing of 
juries in all these cases, and suggesting that Catholic householders 
should be allowed to stand for “ good and lawful men.” Lord Clar¬ 
endon replies boldly that he did pack the juries ; and that under the 
circumstances he did right to pack them. Here is an honest ruffian! 


134 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


About the time of my trial I remember some newspapers (and even 
Mr. Henu in his speech) said I had no right to complain of the exclu¬ 
sion of Catholic jurors—not being a Catholic myself:—and now as 
O’Doherty is a Catholic himself, they say he cannot surely expect to 
be tried by his co-religionists ; they would be partial to him. So in 
all cases good true-blue Protestants must do the Queen’s business. 
All this talk about the religion of the jurors is of course exasperating 
religious animosities in Ireland ; and the English newspapers attri¬ 
bute this to us ; because we complained about the packing. I wonder 
now if there is anybody in Ireland daring enough to hint that the 
religious distinction was made by the Crown, not by us—that we 
never asked to be tried by Catholics or repealers, but that the govern¬ 
ment took care we should be tried by Protestants, and Castle Protest¬ 
ants only —that we demanded to have our conduct pronounced upon 
by our countrymen legally represented in the jury-list, not by one sect 
of our countrymen, still less by one section of one sect, least of all by 
twelve men skilfully chosen (by those who knew how to choose) out 
of that section of that sect. But I suppose nobody dares to say this 
—Lord Clarendon would soon lay up the audacious traitor in New¬ 
gate as a suspected person. 

23 d .—Saw Dr. Hall to-day. He tells me that my letter was referred 
to him by the governor for his official opinion—that he gave it 
distinctly to the effect that I am a dying man unless I be removed 
from Bermuda : and the governor has transmitted this to London. 
In process of time, therefore, I may probably be removed, unless I die 
in the meantime. 

Mentioned to him what I had heard about the Cape ; and asked 
him why I might not be sent to that place. He looked surprised : 
and asked me if I really wished to sail in a transport ship, to the 
Cape of Good Hope, with convicts. I answered, “Most certainly—I 
wish to go to any country where there is air I can breathe.” He 
said the ship would be crowded with convicts. Told him I did not 
care—I wanted to fly for my life, and would not be choice either in 
my conveyance or my company. He then said he would certainly 
mention to the governor the conversation he had with me 5 and as 
there would still be time to communicate with England before the 
ship would sail for the Cape, he had little doubt that I might be put 
on board of her, if I chose. 

In short I believe the pirates will send me to the Cape. And what 
care I for the convict ship’s-company ? No doubt they will give mo 


on II 1ST MAS IN T II E DliOMEDAEY. 


185 


a separate place on board for my own accommodation as usual, • 
out of no love for me, but lest I should raise a mutiny 5 ior they 
have a wholesome terror of my propensities and talents in that way. 
At worst it will be but a two or three months 7 voyage 5 and one can 
endure anything for two or three months. 

Christmas day.— They have had service on deck to-day. The 
men have had a holyday. The weather is bright and warm 5 and the 
whole of this wooden building is reeking with plum-pudding—I hear 
a distant sound of loud applause and stamping of feet, reminding 
me of Conciliation Hall. The man who attends me says it is a 
company of amateur convicts enacting a tragedy on the lower deck: 
the guards and officers are among the spectators and there is a 
general gala—something as near to a Saturnalian revel as would bo 
safe among such a crew of miscreants. I wish them all a merry 
Christmas, and many happy returns of the same. But I doubt if it 
ever will return to me; I am sitting all day, shrunk together in my 
cell, dismally ill, and wrapped up in coats like a man on the box- 
seat of a coach. Read Antony and Cleopatra. 

Exit the year 1848. 

1849. Jan. 15th.- Bravo, forty-nine." Great news of the French 
Republic! Prince Louis Bonaparte (the same who was transported 
in Louis Philippe’s time) is elected President, and that against, 
General Cavaignac! The English newspapers, which, to my horror 
are my sole channels of intelligence, are in high delight, or pretend 
to be. For this, say they, is a distinct renunciation and abandonment 
of the Republic ;—if it were the Republic France cared for she had 
chosen Cavaignac, an able man and staunch democrat: butbeho c 
they neglect Cavaignac, and all France runs wild after the imperial 
name of Bonaparte. But these villainous newspapers see in he 
transaction just what they wish to see, and nothing else; or ra er 
put on it the interpretation which they wish their poor stupid 
readers to receive. And let them receive, and swallow, and digest it 
for the present. Oh! let there be no premature alarm in the 
moneyed circles: let credit stand on its wooden legs as long as it 

* I fear that I applauded France and her Prince under a mistake: but of this 
I am not yet quite certain. Respice finem. Therefore I leave room hereunder 

for another note. Rothwell, V. D. L., YUh February , ’53. 

oZr NoU .-I still believe inthe French Republic, and regard the Emperor as 
an accident, and his alliance uith England a delusion. Xew York, 2M 
February , 1854. 


13G 


JAIL JOURNAL. 

may. But the French worship not the imperial but the heroic name 
of Bonaparte. Republican formula, or monarchical, is not the thing 
they care for—but the glory of France is their God. I also see in 
this thing what I wish to see—and I see in it an expression of the 
great national want of France,—that thirst, yearning, burning, 
passionate, in the soul of every Frenchman— to be quits with 
Europe for Waterloo and the occupation of Paris; and to tear 
into small shreds the treaty of Vienna. On my white rock here, 
hard by the tropic of Cancer, comes to my ear in melody, the first 
growl of that gathering storm which is destined to shake the pillars 
of the globe —Sainte Helene! — Waterloo! — Vengeance! Now 
ye credit-funders look to it—Prenez garde! ameliators of Celtic 
Ireland! (^a ira. 

Poor sick Celtic Ireland, in the meantime is miserably quiet:— 
nobody daring to utter one honest word about public affairs for fear 
of the Castle-vigor. O’Brien, Meagher, and the other Clonmel 
convicts have had their case argued before the twelve judges on a 
writ of error :—decision against them of course :—and O’Brien and 
MacManus go to the English House of Lords. Meagher, it is said, 
has decidedly refused to do this —he will never seek for justice out 
of Ireland. Right, brave Meagher ! 

O’Donoghue follows Meagher’s example : but still I can learn 
nothing about Williams : since his arrest I have not once met with 
his name. He was very delicate in health—I fear their dungeons 
have killed him.* 

I have been very ill for the last month ; but do not yield to it an 
inch. Must live, if I can, for some years to come. It may be, this 
Napoleon has sought the Presidency not with Republican, but with 
dynastic, views. If so he is an idiot as well as a traitor, and his empty 
head will fall. He seems, for so far, to mean fairly : and Heaven! 
what a destiny is within his grasp!—But has he brains ? and a heart ? 

February 1st. —There is a sort of “ commission ” sitting here, my 
servant tells me, consisting of Mr. Hire, Dr. Hall, and several other 
hulk authorities, to determine on the prisoners who are to be 
recommended for the Cape of Good Hope. Several men, it seems, to 
whom thfe recommendation was offered have refused to leave 

* New York. February 22 d, 1S54.—These dismal misgivings as to the fate of 
Mr. Williams were happily illusory. He is still alive and in Alabama; though I fear 
he has not a very valuable plantation there. The best in the South is not too good 
for him.—J. M. 


STRATA OF LITERARY 8 0 O R I /E . 


137 


Bermuda. This servant himself has been placed on the list and 
intends to go. He tells me he does not like Bermuda. “ It’s a rum 
country, sir, is this ’ere,—one of the rummest countries as is.” I 
asked him if he had heard of any objections being made by the 
people of the Cape against receiving them. “No, sir,” said he— 
“ not as I knows on—I ’spose government will take care of all them 
there things.” 

Get on but slowly with my translation of the Politeia: and nearly 
repent that I began it ; for I lack energy to go through with it. On 
some days I have hardly strength to mend my pen, or strength of 
will to do so much as determine upon that important measure. 
Dawdling over Keightley’s history of the war in Greece, compiled 
out of all the newspapers and all the memoirs. Full enough of inci¬ 
dent certainly; for the author seems to give different versions of the 
same event as so many different transactions, and he ruthlessly kills 
more Greeks in the course of this war than there have been in all 
Greece at one time since the days of Philopoemen—not to speak of 
incredible multitudes of Turks, whom he generally slays at least 
thrice. Then I have been turning lazily over the pages of a certain 
“magazine,” called the “Saturday Magazine,” which the worthy 
chaplain has lent me. There are six double volumes of this astound¬ 
ing rubbish ; or more properly six strata,—a huge deposit of pudding- 
stone, rubble, detritus and scoriae in six thick stratifications ; contain¬ 
ing great veins of fossil balderdash, and whole regions of what the 
Germans call loss and trass; amongst which, however, sometimes 
glances up a fragment of pure ore that has no business there, or a 
gleaming splinter of diamond illuminating the foul opacity. After 
an hour’s digging and shovelling, I meet perhaps with an authentic 
piece of noster Thomas himselfthere are two of those in the whole 
six beds and once I turned up what made my heart leap—“ The 
Forging of the Anchor,”—which I straightway rolled forth till the 
teak timbers rang. There are a great many not intolerable wood 
engravings in the volumes, and some readable topographical descrip¬ 
tion: but on the whole the thing is of very base material—“ Amuse¬ 
ments in Science”—“ Recreations in Religion”—no, but “Easy 
Lessons on Christian Evidences ’’—much apochryphal anecdotage of 
history, but above all, abundant illustrations of British generosity, 
valor, humanity,—British wealth, commerce and civilization : statis¬ 
tics of cotton fabric ;—how many million yards of it are made by the 
year, and how many times this would go round the globe, marry, I 


9 


188 JAIL JOURNAL. 

believe round tlic earth’s orbit:—statistics of steel pens,—how many 
tons of iron are snipped up into pens,—and yet how the quill trade 
(delightful to know) is not one feather the worse. “ What literature ” 
—what commerce there must be here ! W T hat correspondence—what 
scrip! How many indictments, parliamentary reports and bills in 
chancery! What book-keeping! What book-making!—Surely there 
is no end to the energy, traffic, wisdom, property, virtue and glory 
of this immortal British nation !—This is the character of all popular 
British “ literature ” which is got up in these late years “ for the 
million” (poor million !)—Its look is wholly introverted : it can see 
or tell of nothing in the world but the British Empire and Colonies. 
The true British spirit is nowadays well content with itself—looks no 
longer above or without itself, but keeps gazing with a stupid delight 
intently at its own navel. The symptom may be called ojnphaloblepsy, 
and is diagnostic of a very fatal national disease—a thorough break¬ 
up, I trust, of the Constitution. 

Aud how happens it that I can sit for hours turning over (with 
many a pooh! and psha!) leaf after leaf of this same stratified 
debris 1 If I despise it so sovereignly, cannot I shut it up and lay it 
on the shelf?—nobody has set me a task in it. Yet to me intently 
revolving this matter, it is apparent that the value of any book is 
not in the mere thoughts it presents to you, expressed in black-on- 
white, but rather in those it suggests, occasions, begets in you, far 
outside the intentions and conceptions of the writer, and even outside 
the subject of his writing. If some dull rogue writes you an essay, 
on what he does not understand, you are not bound to follow his 
chain of reasoning (as perhaps he calls it)—the first link of his chain 
may fit itself to other links of your own forging, and so you may 
have whole trains, whole worlds of thought, which need not run 
upon the dull rogue’s line, nor stop at his terminus. One must not 
disdain to draw matter of revery from “ even a sot, a pot, a truckle 
for a pulley, an oil bottle, or a cane chair.” But what talk I of 
essays and writings ? Some poor wood-cut turning up suddenly in this 
paltry magazine, by the fancied likeness of one feature in it,—a church 
tower, a tree, a human eye, or lip,—to somewhat you have seen far 
away and long ago, may carry you, as on a sunbeam, into distant 
valleys of vision, and bless your eyes with gleams of a wonderful 
light, whose fountain who shall tell ?—yes, and place by your side 
companions old and dear, whose discourse you hear and answer, and 
whose fare—so real is the presence—you would hold it but just to 


BEWARE OF METAPHYSICS. 


139 


pay to any ferryman on the crossing of a river—a piece of honest 
dealing inculcated l>y Uhland— 

“ Boatman, take this coin, I pray thee; 

Thrice thy fare I cheerfully pay thee— 

For though thou seest them not, there stand 
Anear me, Two from the Phantom Land.” 

The genesis of our thoughts is a mysterious operation—not yet fully 
explained by Dr. Thomas Brown, with his law of Association: but 
thus much seems clear, that in order to think at all, one has need of 
some kind of mechanical helps in utter solitude, darkness, and 
silence, your intellect would soon be extinguished, drowned in that 
“ stagnant sea of idleness, blind, boundless, mute and motionless ”— 
and idiocy would ensue, or raving madness. When a man is shut up 
in a rigorous confinement for many months, seeing nothing but the 
same dungeon walls, the same bars, the same unwearied sun sending 
the same shadows every evening at the same pace along the floor, and 
nothing human, save a most down-looking and felonious felon, setting 
daily food before him, the intellect cannot but stagnate, starve, and 
grow dull, for lack of needful food and exercise. It is then one feels 
the value of even a very bad book,—of anything, in short, that will 
help imagination and memory to take the place of the senses and 
of human converse, furnishing occasion and stimulus to thought. 

But what is this? Is it the abyss of metaphysics I see yawning 
before me? Assuredly, I will not plunge into that bottomless pit 
again, after having drawn myself out ot it, with pain and labor, lull 
fifteen years ago—just so long is it since I endea\oicd to walk with 
my own head in my teeth, like the decapitated Christian martyr 
celebrated by Mr. Gibbon—or to rival that “ Irish ” saint, known to 
Thomas Carlyle, who swam across the Channel with his head so 
secured,—“a miracle,” saith Carlyle, « which has never been 

repeated.” 

But, halting on this side the brink of psychology, I have yet made 
a sort of excuse for a man in solitary imprisonment putting up with 
exceedingly bad books. They may be to him a succedaneum, in 
some sort, for the various scenes and intercourse of life and the 
ordinary “uses of this world,” which you know are often as 
weary, stale, and flat, almost as the very dullest piece of “ literature ” 
ever heaped together,—yet out of which you can always secrete 
and assimilate so much various pabulum as will keep the soul Irom 


140 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


devouring itself. Cor ne edito —it is not wholesome : stay your 
stomach with any sort of garbage rather than that. 

February 3 d .—Between my cabin, and the place occupied by the 
convicts, are two wooden bulks, or walls, and a room or passage 
between those walls—yet when the men talk loud in quarrelling or 
argument, I often hear their abominable discourse. To-day I heard 
a long and angry dispute, the subject and phraseology of which I 
shall not commemorate ;—but all that comes to my ears, or eyes, of the 
ways of life in this place, shows me more and more clearly what a 
portentous evil is this transportation system. Each hulk, each mess or 
ward, is a normal school of unspeakable iniquity : and young boys 
who come out, as many surely do, not utterably desperate and 
incurable villains, are sure to become so very soon under such 
training. I hear enough to make me aware that the established 
etiquette amongst them (for there is a peculiar good breeding for 
hulks as for drawing-rooms) is to cram as much brutal obscenity 
and stupid blasphemy into their common speech as it will hold,— 
and that a man is respected and influential among his messmates in 
direct proportion to the atrocity of his language and behavior. 
Gambling is common, and for large sums, four and five pounds being 
sometimes lost and won at a game of cards. A few of them, it seems, 
are able to get money, partly by stealing, partly by traffic. Those 
who work in the quarries and buildings earn threepence per day, of 
which but one penny per day is given them to spend : but there are 
tradesmen, and these sometimes work at their trades after hours 5 so 
that in one way or another they contrive to carry on a considerable 
traffic with the Bermudians, who communicate with them on the 
works in various ways. Many prisoners are employed constantly 
about the ship as boatmen, servants, and the like; and they have 
ample opportunities to steal, of which they avail themselves to tho 
fullest extent. If any of them were to discover a scruple about 
stealing, or decline or neglect to steal when he might, I find it would 
be resented as an offence against the laws and usages of the common¬ 
wealth, and punished accordingly. In short, evil is their recognized 
good—and the most loathsome extremities of depravity in mind and 
body are their summum bonum. Think of a boy of twelve or fourteen 
years, who has been driven by want or induced by example to com¬ 
mit a theft, sent to school at Bermuda for half his lifetime, in order 
to reform him S But what enrages me more than all, is to think of 
the crowd of starved Irish, old and young, who have taken sheep or 


IRISH EDUCATED FOE THE GALLOWS. 141 


poultry to keep their perishing families alive in the famine, sent out 
to Bermuda to live in a style of comfort they never knew before 
even in their dreams, and to he initiated into mysteries and profound 
depths of corruption that their mother tongue has no name for. 
About two months before my arrival here, came out a great ship¬ 
load of Irish—the harvest of the famine special commission—from 
twelve years of age up to sixty. They were all about three-quarters 
starved, and so miserably reduced by hunger and hardship, that they 
have been dying off very fast by dysentery. As to the behavior of 
these poor creatures, I learn from the commander that they have no 
vice in them, are neither turbulent nor dishonest, nor give any 
trouble at all. “But,” adds the commander, “ they will soon be as 
finished ruffians as the rest.” No doubt they will, poor fellows. He 
informs me that they were astonished at first, at the luxuries pro¬ 
vided for them—fresh beef three days in the week, and pork the other 
days, pea-soup, tea, excellent loaf-bread—things they had never 
seen before, except in shops, and which they no more knew how to 
use than Christophero Sly. Then they have liberty to write home as 
often as they like ; and when they tell their half-starved friends how 
well a felon is fed, what can be more natural than that famished 
honesty should be tempted to put itself in the way of being sent to 
so plentiful a country ? This man tells me he has many prisoners in 
the Dromedary who have been here before, and not a few in their 
third term ; that he has several fathers and sons together; and that 
it is not uncommon to find families who have been hulked for three 
or four generations. Hulking, as a profession, is as yet confined to 
England that it will become a more favorite line of business there, 
as the poverty of the English poor shall grow more inveterate, 
cannot be doubted.—God’s mercy ! is Ireland not to be torn out of 
the hands of these ameliorative British statesmen until they have 
brought this crowning curse upon her, too ? 

There are now about two thousand convicts at Bermuda about a 
thousand at Spike Island 5 how many may be at Gibraltar and Aus¬ 
tralia, not to speak of the several depots for them in England, I know 
not; but on the whole there is an immense and rapidly growing con¬ 
vict community distributed in all these earthly hells, maintained in 
much comfort, with everything handsome about them, at the cost of 
the hard-working and ill-fed, and even harder-working and worse- 
fed people of England, Scotland, and Ireland. That theie is a limit 
to all this, one may easily see. 


142 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


What to do. then, with all our robbers, burglars, and forgers? Why- 
hang them, hang them. You have no right to make the honest 
people support the rogues, and support them better than they, the 
honest people, can support themselves. You have no right to set a 
premium upon villainy, and put burglars and rick-burners on a per¬ 
manent endowment. It is not true to say that in Bermuda (for 
instance) the value of their own labor supports them, because that 
labor is employed upon most extravagant public works, which govern¬ 
ment could not undertake at all without convict labor, and the wages 
come out of the taxes paid by the honest people ; in short, they sup¬ 
port themselves just as seamen on board a man-of-war support them¬ 
selves, and do not earn their living half so hard. The taxes keep up 
the “convict service,” just as they keep up the navy and the excise 
men. 

In criminal jurisprudence, as well as in many another thing, the 
nineteenth century is sadly retrogressive ; and your Beccarias, and 
Howards, and Romillys are genuiue apostles of barbarism—ultimately 
of cannibalism. “ Reformation of the offenders” is not the reason¬ 
able object of criminal punishment, nor any part of the reasonable 
object: and though it were so, your jail and hulk system would be 
the surest way to defeat that object and make the casual offender an 
irreclaimable scourge of mankind. Jails ought to be places of dis¬ 
comfort ; the “ sanatory condition ” of miscreants ought not to be 
better cared for than the health of honest, industrious people—and 
for “ventilation,” I would ventilate the rascals in front of the county 
jails ; t the end of a rope. 

Feb. 8th .—Tired to death of reading books—at least all books of 
an instructive sort,—and have now been detouring (for about the 
fifth time) Ivanhoe and the heart of Mid Lothian. My blessing on 
the memory of Walter Scott! Surely all prisoners and captives, sick 
persons, and they who are heavy of cheer, ought to pray for his soul. 
One is almost reconciled to “popular literature,” because it Has 
made the Waverley Novels common as the liberal air.—A famine of 
books. I begin to find, is very emaciating : and I know not well how 
I am to ensure a due supply. All my own, my well-known, friendly 
old books are sold off, and I cannot allow my poor wife to lay out 
any part of her small moneys on books for me. What a loss to a 
bookish man is the loss of his own books ! books in which you can 
turn to the place you want as easily as you thread the walks in your 
own garden, whose very backs and bindings are familiar eountc- 


OEDEEED TO THE OAPE. 


143 


nances. Of all refinements in royal luxury, I know none more envi¬ 
able (though the Parc aux cerfs was well enough) than the great 
Frederic’s library arrangements:—he had five palaces, and in the 
course of a stirring life, had to spend much time in each :—but in 
each was the same library,—same editions, same bindings, same dis¬ 
position on the shelves,—there was a room for the library of like 
size, same figure, same furniture ; so, when he sat down by his study- 
fire of an evening, in the same dressing-gown and slippers, the great 
Frederic was always at home. And if he did not want to turn to 
any place in any book—but preferred dozing—he knew, at least, that 
he could easily turn to any he might want,—which is often quite as 
good, or even better. 

Feb. 12th. —Mr. Hire, the superintendent, came to-day to inform 
me, that the governor had received directions to let me go to the 
Cape ; where, on my arrival, I am to be set at liberty, but within a 
limited district, and under police surveillance. So, the worst 
seems to be over; that is, if I live to reach the Cape, of which 
Dr. Hall seems doubtful. 

Mr. Hire tells me further that there is a good deal of discontent 
among the Cape colonists, at the prospect of having their country 
made a receptacle for convicts 5 —but that it seems to be the work of 
a faction, and that the government at home do not pay it any atten¬ 
tion. It seems to me very strange that there should be “ factions” 
at the Cape on such a question—that they do not rise up as one man 
to resent and resist such an outrage. Cut Africa knows its, own 

business best. It is no concern of mine. Certainly, I shall ha /e«io 

% 

scruple in going anywhere out of Bermuda. 

Feb. 22 d .—Opening of the London Parliament on the 1st of this 
month—and Queen’s Speech—Her Gracious Majesty asks her Parlia¬ 
ment for a continuation of “ extraordinary powers” in Ireland—that 
is, continued Suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, and continued 
powers to thrust anybody into gaol, without any charge against him : 
—for although, says her Gracious Majesty, “ Peace ” has happily 
been preserved, “ there still exists a spirit of disaffection in that 
country .” What! Even still!—after so much amelioration being 
done for them—after the very bulwarks of the Constitution, Habeas 
Corpus, and Jury-trial, being destroyed for them—and all to main¬ 
tain the * law ?”—after the land-appropriators being strengthened by 
all the powers of government, Special Commissions, and a thundering 
army, to exterminate and transport them,—and all for their own 


144 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


good! And disaffection still! Well, there is no gratitude in sinful 
man. 

A spirit of disaffection ! Yes, I thank God, there is. 

April 1st .—Festival of all fools. All March is gone ; thirty-one 
long and slow-pacing days; and the Cape ship not yet arrived. I am 
sick to death. Dr. Warner, the medical officer of the hulks, informs 
me that he communicated with Dr. Hall some days ago, about my 
bad state of health, and the uncomfortable nature of my quarters 
here, and that they both applied to the governor to have me removed 
once more to the hospital-ship, where I should have a much better room 
and more comforts of various sorts —but without success. It was not 
by my wish, or with my knowledge, that such an application was 
made, for I never ask for anything or complain of anything, in 
respect of my comforts and accommodations. Dr. Warner, however, 
tells me that if any other prisoner in the colony had been in my con¬ 
dition he would have been sent to the hospital six months ago, and 
that without consulting the governor at all. It is still judged neces¬ 
sary to pretend to be afraid of the Americans coming and rescuing 
me—which I now believe to have been but a pretext from the first. 
So, now I sit, constantly panting and struggling in asthma both day 
and night, exposed to a damp and bitter north wind, that sometimes 
blows out my candle at night. For the ship is old, and the porthole 
is much rounded away at the edges, so that the casement-window 
does not properly fit it. Of course, there is no fire. 

I cannot well understand the intentions of the “ government ” with 
regard to me, or divine whether their instructions to my keepers here 
are to be kind to me, or to kill me. I said so to Dr. Warner to-day, 
and he only replied by shaking his head. Certainly, ten months’ 
solitary confinement of a sick man in an unwholesome den, is but a 
doubtful sort of indulgence.—But I await the Cape-ship. She is the 
“ Neptune,” of seven hundred tons : and she sailed from England on 
the 15th of February. They are now looking out for her every day. 
This same cruel north-wind, that blows out my candle at night, is 
roaring, I trust upon her quarter, and straining tack and sheet with 
her bellying canvas. 


. 


THE 


145 


NEPTUNE. 1 ’ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Ten Months’ Bondage—Arrival of the “Neptune,” Bound for the Cape—Perils of 
British Rule In Ireland—Trial of the Editor of the Nation —Editor a Recreant— 
Removal to the Hospital Ship again—Reflections unusually Pious—News from 
Europe and Asia—Lord Gough in the Punjab—Imaginary Programme of 
European Movements—Preparing for Voyage to Africa—Phenomena of Memory 
—Innocence of Childhood—The Pen of Rigmarole—The “ Scourge ” again— 
British Public Opinion—Parliamentary Falsehoods by Admiral Dundas and Lord 
Lansdowne—At Sea once more—Bright Prospects—O’Connell, a Portrait— 
Conversation with “ Surgeon Superintendent.” 

1849. April 2 d. — In my cell, Dromedary h ulk .—Yesterday ended 
ten months of my exile and captivity :—ten months out of fourteen 
years leave 158 months. What mortal can keep Despair and the 
Devil at bay so long,—and all aloue, “ lone as a corpse within its 
shroud ?” 

April 5th. —The “ Neptune ” has arrived ; and is to sail in about 
a fortnight. There is still, I understand, a good deal of agitation at 
the Cape against the project of establishing a penal colony there ; and 
assuredly it is a brutal act of tyranny, if it be indeed done without 
their consent. Our authorities here, however, seem to make very light 
of it. They say the opposition is got up by a parcel of canting dis¬ 
senters. 

Have been reading in Tait’s Magazine an elaborate review of a new 
book, by the indefatigable government literator, Macaulay—no less 
than a “ History of England.” Tait gives copious extracts, from 
■which I easily perceive that the book is a piece of authentic Edin¬ 
burgh reviewing, declamatory in 'Style, meagre in narrative, 
thoroughly corrupt in principle,—as from all this man's Essays on 
subjects of British history must have been expected.* 

* Bothwell, Van Diemen's Land , 4th August, 1851. I have read the book itself 
here : for, having become one of the most popular books in the world, it is even in 
the village library of Bothwell. Mem.—It is a clever, base, ingenious, able and 

7 


146 


JAIL JOUIiNAL. 


April VLth .—At length British vigor is checked in Ireland,— 
provided it be now firmly met. Mr. Duffy has been tried for lii3 
felony a second or a third time,—and the Crown is beaten again. 
That is, they have failed in obtaining a conviction, w’hich is to them 
utter defeat. Matters have arrived at the point I aimed at from the 
first;—the if government v have come to be ashamed of the barefaced 
packing of so many successive juries; or have begun to see that it is 
impolitic,—and so they allowed a Repealer or two to stand amongst 
the twelve who tried him. And of course these men not only refused 
to agree with the rest in finding him guilty (knowing that no Irish¬ 
man can be guilty, in Ireland, of any offence against the Queen of 
England)—but some of them insisted on applauding the national 
sentiments of the prisoner’s counsel, with hear, hear, and clapping of 
hands. This is very good and right, and highly satisfactory. British 
“law ” in Ireland stands on the very brink of the bottomless pool. But 
what now will my Lord Clarendon do ? He cannot, and dare not, 
allow himself to be beaten in this case ; and I think he will boldly 
pack on the next trial, and secure this one conviction at all hazards ; 
for Duffy is not only editor of the JVatiou, but is the very man who 
urged poor O’Brien upon his Tipperary war. If they even stay pro¬ 
ceedings against him now, they are finally vanquished, and he can 
drive government into the sea. He can: but will he ? dares he ? 
Alas! the unfortunate man is too evidently cowed and prostrated to 
the earth ;—he produced on his trial evidence of character —literally, 
people to bear witness of his good moral character in private life ;— 
and not only that, but of his legal and constitutional character. I 
read that Father Matthew and Bishop Blake w r ere brought forwmrd to 
prove that Mr. Duffy is not only a very amiable and religious person, 
but also far from being the sort of a man to meditate illegal violence, 
or the disturbance of “ social order ”—not he. Carleton too is pro¬ 
duced to give his testimony to the prisoner’s general character—of 
which Carleton is an admirable judge. And, w r hat is almost w 7 orse 
than all, the poor man tried to evade the responsibility of some of 
the prosecuted articles, by proving that they were not written by 

shallow political pamphlet, in two volumes. This writer has the rare art of 
coloring a whole narrative by an apparently unstudied adjective or two, and telling 
a series of frightful falsehoods by one of the most graceful of adverbs. What i 3 
worse, the fellow believes in no human virtue—proves Penn a pimping parasite, 
because he hated penal laws; and makes a sort of Bromwicham hero out of the 
dull Dutch Deliverer. 


TO THE HOSPITAL AGAIN. 


147 


himself. This is all very wretched work : yet still, unless there be 
some utterly ignominious concession, “ government ” will not be 
relieved from the difficulty. He is led back to prison : and try him 
they must at the next Commission -and they must pack the jury, 
and that very closely, or —Oh! it is a fine thing to see a “ liberal,” 
a “ progressive,” a “ conciliatory ” British government brought to 
this. 

I shall be very anxious to hear the result of the next trial. Would 
to God there were some one found in Ireland to press the enemy hard 
n0 w.—Would to God it were in this man to do his duty! He, this 
Duffy, might now win to himself the immortal honor of abolishing 
English law in Ireland—if his fine private character would but allow 
him. It is absolutely necessary to try out this legal controversy—a 
drawn battle will not do—all constitutional rubbish must be swept 
away, and the ground cleared for the trial ot the final issue.—1 he 
battle of the (Irish) Constitution must be fought in the jury-box, first, 
then in the streets,—lastly in the fields. 

To-day, without a moment’s warning, I was carried off from the 
Dromedary in a boat, and brought to the hospital-sliip once moic. 
The Neptune is to sail within a week; and it seems I am to have a 
few days’ hospital treatment, to fit me for so long a voyage ; lest 
they should find it necessary,” says Dr. Hall, “ to lower you from the 
yard-arm between this and the Cape.” He says that he procured 
this arrangement with difficulty, by distinctly certifying that I am 
too ill to be put on board ship, and that in his opinion there is danger 
I may not survive the voyage. I did not think I had been so ill; 
curse on them, they have gone near to murder me. Yet I do not 
believe that the voyage will be hurtful to me, or that I am nov in 
danger of death. The danger w r as in being kept in solitary confine¬ 
ment here. Indeed, weak as I am in body, I feel stronger in soul than 
ever I was ; for which I sincerely thank Almighty God. Many foul 
shadows that seemed threatening to rise up between me and the Sun 
have scattered themselves and sunk. I have risen into a clearer 
atmosphere, and feel myself more in accord with whatsoever is good 
in this world. Let some philosopher account to me, upon either phy¬ 
siological or psychological principles, which he pleases, for this 
phenomenon—the mind growing strong as the frame grows weak- 
mowing hopeful, contented, indomitable, the nearer a man looks 
upon the face of death—death in a dungeon—death among his 
enemies. For my own part, I bethink me that it there be work or 


148 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


me to do on the earth the Almighty will keep me alive to do it, and 
draw me out of this pit in his own time,—that if not, He knows what 
is best for every one of us,—can raise up friends and guides for my 
children 5 better friends and guides than I could ever be,—can find 
means and instruments that I never dream of, to elevate our poor 
country out of the dust and set her high among the nations, and give 
her peace and prosperity within her cottages. In short, everybody 
can do without me ; and if I am to perish in this exile I shall take it 
as a certain sign that all things will go on better without me.—Yet I 
do ardently desire to live, and to act,—to rear my own children, to 
do my own duties,—to act and speak amongst men that which I know 
to be just and true. And all this will I do if it be God’s will,—if 
otherwise, then God's will be done. 

Dr. Hall is very kind and attentive to me: seems determined to 
give me as much health as I can take in for the time I remain here. 
The weather, too, has decidedly turned to summer again, and that 
very suddenly, so that all chances are in my favor. The islands 
around this bay, where the “Tenedos” is moored, with their green 
fruit-gardens and dark cedar-groves, and narrow beach of white sand, 
are like opening paradise to me, after the dockyard and its loath¬ 
some hulks. 

April 13th. —I have just been gratified (no matter how or by 
whom) with a sight of some newspapers—which announce, among 
other things, a signal defeat of the enemy in the Punjab, at the 
hands of the gallant Seiks. The Governor-General of India is 
hastening to support Lord Gough with large forces, and there will 
probably be a sharp campaign there. The British will undoubtedly 
make desperate efforts to retrieve their fortune, even though they 
should immediately after evacuate the country altogether (having 
first robbed and desolated it), as they did in the case of Cabul. The 
expense of all this, however, will be vast—it is not the plunder of a 
few cities that will cover it—and so will the good work speed. 
“ Great is Bankruptcy.” 

Meantime, Europe is arranging itself into very singular combina¬ 
tions. England, after fostering Lombard liberalism, is now courting 
and flattering Austria—feeling that a day may shortly come when 
she cannot do without Austria :—then Austria, for her part, cannot do 
at all \\ itliout Russia, which brings England and Russia cn rapport , 
as they ought to be, for they are natural allies. And then Hungary 
is not subdued yet, as the murderous English newspapers boasted 


TABLEAU OF EUEOPE. 


149 


she was: on the contrary, with Poland (or rather Poles) to aid, she 
seems far more likely to subdue Austria. And then you may be sure 
Russia cannot bear that Hungary and the Poles should become 
friends, and begin defying emperors,—so she will thrust in her 
weighty sword. And then the tricolor of France flies out, and 
Lombardy, Italy, North Germany are up :—and then slowly and 
reluctantly the British leopard (or “ lion,” as the brute calls himself) 
must come up to the scratch—slowly and reluctantly, for he had 
much rather roar in India, or New Zealand, or (after carefully 
disarming the people) in Ireland. And Ireland, one is alarmed to 
hear, has a “ spirit of disaffection,”—and will, ere long, have an 
opportunity of showing whether she can do anything but keep 
eternally moaning her “ grievances.” 

All this while Germany is bringing herself to bed of something 
she calls a Constitution, with much travail, at Frankfort; which 
Constitution the King of Prussia, and even the old hyaena of 
Hanover, will be sure to reject and set at nought. The Constitution, 
I can foresee, will be still-born; and North Germany, Prussia, 
Hanover, and all, will become perforce republican. Kings and Grand 
Dukes will not suffer them to stop short of that :—men will waken 
some morning in Cologne and Cassel, and Carlsruhe and Baden, and 
Berlin, and find themselves in mortal battle with kings and king- 
ships ;—they will aVvaken to the fact that kings are not to be trusted, 
not to be bound by any treaty, charter, or pact with their subjects, 
nor, in short, to be otherwise dealt with—once their office becomes 
useless—than by the old and well-known method, war to the knife, 
and amputation of the crown, with the head in it. Thus Germany is 
preparing her part for the great European melee. As for France, 
she seems wholly occupied just now in settling her internal affairs ; 
and, indeed, before she settles into her normal state, she may fall into 
strange confusions and do the wildest things; for our worthy franco 
is somewhat eccentric ; but in the coming journee —once European 
affairs are brought so far—there is no doubt or uncertainty as to 
wdiere gallant France will be found. Let the trumpet sound, and 
France will be in her place with sword on thigh. Such is the 
programme I imagine to myself: but the thing may arrange itself 

otherwise. 

In the meantime, one is truly concerned to learn, by her Britannic 
Majesty’s gracious speech, that Ireland cherishes a spirit of disaffec¬ 
tion. 


150 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


There is a gallant game toward. And am I to lie groaning in a 
wooden gaol here in the Atlantic, or pruuing vines, in African capti¬ 
vity, under southern constellations, while kingships and nationhoods 
are lost and won! I trow not. 

April 20 th .—The spring weather here has become most genial, and 
sky, sea, and land are altogether lovely to see. This ship is not 
moored fore-and-aft, but swings by the head; and from my cabin 
window, by night and by day, I can see the whole amphitheatre of 
isles circling panoramically round, as the wind shifts. Sometimes 
the rising sun will stream bright into my window, and the same even¬ 
ing, through the same window, the setting sun will blaze redly in ; 
and perhaps, by the next morning, as I open my eyes (for I have 
begun to sleep again), I can see from my pillow once more the dawn 
blushing, and the eastern side of St. George’s a perfect amethyst. 
Here is the advantage of living, not on the dull, tame shore, but in a 
heliotrope hulk. About two miles off lies the great flagship, and 
astern of her the Neptune, a stately ship enough, wdth the man-of- 
war pendant flying from her main top, which, it seems, she is entitled 
to carry, as having a naval officer on board,—the surgeon-superin¬ 
tendent, namely, who is to have command of the prisoners. 

The Neptune is to sail the day after to-morrow. I am told there is 
a separate little cabin fitted up for me, opening upon the quarter¬ 
deck, so that I shall enjoy otium cum dignitate during the voyage, 
as befits a gentleman. Voyage ! voyage to Africa! Sometimes I 
open my eyes vigorously, and rub my ears, and take my personal 
identity to task. Can this be the very Ego, late John Mitchel, some¬ 
time of Upper Leeson street, w T ho is going to sail in that tall ship to 
the land of the Cafifirs and Bosjesmans, Dutch boers, and springboks? 
It seems indubitable —hoc est corpus meum —yea verily— 

“ Me vel extremos Numidarum in agros 
Classe releget.” 

Yes, indeed, you, John Mitchel, now resident in Bermudian hulks, 
and numbered 2014, are about to cross the line, and navigate southern 
oceans, in the track of Bartolomeo Diaz. 

--- rrj?uOvpov tie yrjv 

’H Kc\aLVOV &V?LOV ol TCpOQ rjTllOV 
N aiovcu nyyaig ; evda irorapog AWioip. 



MEMORY — CHILDHOOD. 


151 


How these lines and syllables of poetry, in divers tongues, throng 
upon my memory in this solitude. The less one has to observe, to 
do, to be, and to suffer, the less present life he has—the more, perhaps, 
he'remembers of the past. If not by way of outward eye or ear, 
then, by memory and imagination, will come in grist for the spiritual 
mill: this is like the ears of a blinded man growing keener, to give 
his darkened mind what help they can—one faculty of soul or sense 
sharpening itself as another dulls—the impressions of the past grow¬ 
ing vivid as the soul shuts itself up from the present. To me, in 
these long, lonely months, with about as high development of present 
life as a zoophyte, working at less than oyster-power, many scenes of 
my hot youth, scenes long forgotten—have arisen fresh and clear, 
almost with the glow of present action and passion : and I now recall^ 
without effort, lines and passages from books, read twenty golden 
yeaars go, that I could not have repeated two years ago, no, not to save 
my neck from the Barons of the Exchequer. In what limbo did those 

memories sleep all that while? 

_But not to go further towards the brink of the abyss profound, 

it is very certain my memory has improved at Bermuda. And 
monitor ! monitor ! I wish no darker memories crowded upon me 
than lines of Aeschylus or Horace : but my whole life lies mirrored 
before me ; and it is not bright nor fair to see. I would that I could 
find in it one single good action (besides the action for which I was 
convicted as a felon). I wish the mild shade of my father wore a less 
reproachful aspect—and I wish he had less reason 

Surely, it is in youth man is most thoroughly depraved. Hell lies 
about us in our infancy. The youthful innocency sung by aged poets 
(who forget their first childhood) is nothing but ignorance of evik 
As the child comes to know evil, he loves it; and by the time he is 
entering on manhood, in the very pride and flush of life, then his 
heart is often hard as adamant, and so transcendental is his selfish¬ 
ness, that he has become a god unto himself, and owns none other ; 
if he tells the truth, and is honest towards his fellows, it is out of 
pride and scorn he does it. Your fine, ingenuous young man is com¬ 
monly the wickedest creature on this side Gehenna. I do solemnly be¬ 
lieve this. Whatsoever of good is ever found in man s nature is %\on 
bv sore conflict with the devil—that is with himself. The foul heart is 
purified by suffering alone : the hard heart is softened only by pass¬ 
ing through the “ flint mill.” And what now if this same hulking 
has been awarded me by Almighty God in mercy-as a lesson I stood 




152 


JAIL JOUENAL. 

in need of—seeing that nothing less would do ? Of ordinary troubles 
that befall men, indeed I had a good share before j but this peculiar 
sort, ignominious personal restraint, was a part of my education here¬ 
tofore neglected. No human being ever enjoyed, prized, and exer¬ 
cised an unbounded personal freedom of action more recklessly, more 
haughtily than I: and there, where I had pampered my own pride 
most, even there it may have been needful for me to be made to feel 
my own helplessness—to feel that I am not, after all, stronger than 
the wonderful and terrible God. And so a gang of ruffians, in 
coronets and in ermine, were commissioned to conspire against me, 
and carry me off to a lonely cell, where a turnkey locks me up, and 
leaves me to learn and digest my hard lesson, and “ ponder the path 
of life ” at leisure. 

Perhaps it is good for me to be here ; but no thanks to the coroneted 
and ermined ruffians. 

-How I do ramble and rave, giving carte blanche to the pen 

of rigmarole! I have been talking like a member of the tract so¬ 
ciety ;—and what matter ? Why should I not talk so, if I say but 
the truth ? One must not be afraid of anything—not even of becom¬ 
ing worthy to be admitted into the tract society. But I grow too 
discursive, and am ashamed, besides, on looking back over all the 
paper I have blotted, to find it such a monstrous mass of egotism. 
Even in a solitary dungeon a man ought not to pay himself so much 
attention, nor confide his egoisms even to his faithful private tablets. 
AVhat am 7, that I should listen to myself with such respect, and even 
take down my own remarks on paper ? What am 7? Why am not I 
The Ego —the veiy Ego meant and insisted upon by Fichte ? And 
is not that an important personage—rather indeed the only person¬ 
age ? I begin to doubt whether there is, or ever was, any JYon-Ego 
at all—even Fichte himself—even the turnkey. I am the All.—But 
my pretty little daughter ! You, also, I think, are extant, somewhere 
in infinite space. 

April 21$7—Saturday. We are absolutely to sail to-morrow ; and 
the mail from England, due two days ago, has not arrived. I may 
now have to set sail for the Cape, without having received my 
monthly bulletin from Newry; and then who knows how many 
months will pass before I hear how my darlings are faring. Besides 
1 have no money : I never would allow any to be sent to me here, 
but in my last letter I wrote for a few pounds, that I might not be 
put ashore on the continent of Africa in a state of utter destitution. 



BRITJSII PUBLIC OPINION. 


153 


I have but a few small silver coins between me and a state of nature, 
and may have to turn Bosjesman. Here is a pretty state of things 
for a “ gentleman of education.” 

The “ Scourge ” steamer, in which I was originally kidnapped, ar¬ 
rived here some days ago, after making the tour ot the West Indies ; 
and has now just sailed for England to be paid off. She has been 
lying at Bermuda three several times since she brought me here ; 
and I have often wondered, that after the first visit I had from two 
of her officers, I never saw any of them again. The 'first lieutenant, 
indeed, had distinctly promised that he would come sometimes to 
see me, and he never came at all.—I have now got some newspapers 
which fully explain all that.—It seems the admiral on the station, 
when he found that I had not been treated like a common convict 
during my voyage, severely censured Captain A\ ingrove 5 and there 
was a good deal of language about this both in Bermuda and in 
England—gentlemen in Parliament asking sharp questions of minis¬ 
ters about their instructions for the usage of “ convict Mitchel,” to 
wit, where the said convict dined, and who drank wine with the said 
convict; and British “ public opinion ” so agitated and indignant, 
that there was even danger of the worthy commander being dismissed 
the service. Now, it is to be observed here, that British public opi¬ 
nion was altogether right ; either I was bond fide a convict, or else 
not a convict:—if not a convict, I ought not to have been carried 
off at all—if a convict, I ought to have been treated exactly like 
other convicts. But it appears further, that the aforesaid opinion 
grew still more inflamed, when it was discovered, that on my shoit 
voyage from Dublin to Cork, I had actually bieakfasted with the 
surgeon and other officers of that steamer, also. ISo wonder British 
opinion felt itself insulted : had it not pronounced this man a felon 
with all the bellowing of its manifold lungs in Parliament, in the 
Press,—not to speak of its particular “jury?”—and would nobody 
consent to look upon him as a felon, or treat him as a convict after 
a ll?_So the poor Shearwater surgeon (on whom, I know not why, 
the blame chiefly felf) was pounced upon by the Admiralty with much 
apparent fury ; and some lying excuse or other had to be invented for 
him. That lying excuse I have not seen, but have just been reading 
the lying excuse made in Parliament for Commander Wingrove, on 
the last occasion of this matter being opened in the legislature:— 
for I now perceive that it has been a standing subject for months ; 
and a Mr. Robinson, a Mr. Lockhart, and Colonel Verner, member 

7* 


154 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


for county Armagh, whenever they wanted to embarrass ministers, 
would start up, from time to time, and desire to be informed how 
convict Mitchel fared on his way to Bermuda, who conversed with 
him, whether his hair was dressed according to the convict cut, and 
whether he was kept properly to his work in the quarries there.—Well, 
on the last of these occasions, as I find reported in the Times , a cer¬ 
tain Admiral Dundas (one of the lords of Admiralty, I believe) as¬ 
sured the House that the instructions in the case of the convict Mitchel 
were, that the commander of the ship should treat him as a convict 
on his passage, and keep him in a separate place, so as not to permit 
him to mingle with the officers of the ship,—but that as there was no 
second-cabin in the Scourge, Capt. Wingrove had been obliged to 
keep him in his own cabin, and entertain him at his own table ;— 
but that he had been kept most strictly apart from the other officers. 
How very gravely these rascals lie. 

In the first place, the Scourge has a separate cabin, as this lord of 
the Admiralty must know; and that second-cabin was my room ; I 
slept there, had exclusive use of the room, and as there were couches, 
chairs, and a table in it, there was nothing to hinder my being served 
with meals there, if such had been the instructions. But, in the second 
place, such were not the instructions,—instead of being ordered to 
treat me as a convict, Captain Wingrove was specially ordered to 
treat me not as a convict, but as a “ gentleman.” 

And in the third place, it is untrue that I was kept apart from the 
officers ; I spent most of my time on deck in company with the 
officers. 

So the statement of this admiral is a falsehood on the whole, and in 
each of its parts : from the beginning to the end, Dundas lied. 

Commander Wingrove, I am very sure, was no party to the falsehood. 

But I find further, that while Admiral Dundas lied in the Commons, 
Lord Lansdowne lied in the Lords: for he told their lordships in 
reply to a similar inquiry in that House, that it was true the instruc¬ 
tions given to the commander of the “Scourge” permitted him to 
use his discretion as to his treatment of the prisoner, on the ground 
of Mr. MitcheVs delicate state of health . This alsfris a mere false¬ 
hood. Capt. Wingrove had no discretion allowed him in the matter: 
Capt. Wingrove had never heard of my delicate health ; and neither 
had ministers; nor had I then made any complaint of ill-heaith at 
all. Thus did these two liars of State lie inartistically for want of 
concert.-May God help us, and forgive us all our sins. 



A. (} A I N AT SEA. 


155 


So much I set down here upon a subject almost immeasurably 
small, because I may have occasion to call it to mind, small as it is, 
hereafter. It was extremely immaterial to me where a cover was 
laid that I should dine, or in whose company I sat down to table. 
My practice has been, ever since I fell into the hands of my enemies, 
to sit, stand or walk, wheresoever I am desired, as becomes a true 
prisoner, and to eat such things as are set before me without remark. 
Neither did I feel at all honored by being invited to Capt. Win grove’s 
table : nor should I have felt degraded if he had thrust me into the 
lowest dungeon in his ship in chains. When the British Government 
got me nicknamed “ Felon,” and sent me away from my own country 
as a convict, they did their worst: it is impossible for them or their 
servants, by any severities or by any “ indulgences,” either to aggra¬ 
vate or to mitigate that atrocity. 

On the whole I sympathize with the outraged public opinion of the 
British nation,—generous, chivalrous, magnanimous British nation. 

April 22d, Sunday .—My last day in Bermuda; it is a bright 
spring morning, and the first thing I saw as my eyes opened, was the 
mail steamer shooting across the smooth bay towards the dock-yard. 
So I shall have my bulletin from Newry. 

A boat is to come for me after breakfast. I am not sure that I shall 
be allowed to go without being questioned, or possibly searched for 
papers : this memorandum-book may be taken from me ; and if any¬ 
body should chance to take the trouble of reading it, I fear a sedi¬ 
tious expression may be found in it here and there. It is true, I have 
never been questioned in this way yet: even my portmanteau has 
not been searched 5 and how the authorities here reconcile this with 
their duty, I know not. For aught they know, I may have in that 
portmanteau, picklocks, files, and a brace of pistols, or even an in¬ 
fernal machine. For aught they know, I have been employing my 
literary leisure to indite seditious and disaffected writings, qua: mox 
depromere possim .—But all this is their affair, not mine. In the 
meantime I keep my book in my pocket, and my window open, until I 
get fairly off—intending, if any search be instituted, to throw my 
valuable remarks overboard, using means to load the little book so 
that it must go to the bottom. 

Four o’’dock .—At sea. The Cedar-groves of Bermuda are sinking 
below the hazy horizon.—So ends my “Dream of the Summer 
Islands.” 


156 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


Received ray letter from home. Through the kind courtesy of the 
governor, it was sent to me after I was on board, and arrived just 
as the Neptune was weighing anchor. All well at home.—I have 
written a very long and cheerful letter to my wife ; for indeed 
matters begin to look somewhat brighter for us : I begin to see day¬ 
light : my health has been improving rapidly ; will probably continue 
to improve at sea : and why may it not be completely re-established 
in the climate of Africa? Then it does not seem clear that the 
“ Government,” intend to keep me confined to the Cape : Lord Grey, 
I see, talks of something that he calls a “conditional pardon,” to be 
obtainable by the prisoners who go to the Cape, on payment of fifteen 
pounds,—and the effect of which will be to make them “ free exiles,” 
free, namely, to go anywhere they please, except to Ireland, England 
or Scotland. If I can get this document (whatever its name is), for 
£15 I will certainly buy it, and think it very cheap at the money. 
What is it to me that they choose to call it a “ pardon ?”—If they 
even call it a plenary indulgence, or a charm against the bite of a 
mad dog, still I will gladly become the purchaser of an article that 
enables me to withdraw myself from under the poisonous shadow of 
the Carthaginian flag. Then if this “ pardon ” be not for me, at the 
worst it is but living a few years in some quiet nook in Stellenbosch 
or Swellendam, amongst my own people, surrounded by the worthy 
Dutch folk, and patriarchally tilling the ground, and pastorally keep¬ 
ing sheep, until my deliverance come. 

Some doubt indeed still seems to me to hang over the disembark¬ 
ation at the Cape : the last intelligence from thence shows that the 
spirit of opposition to such a measure is increasing; yet Dr. Dees, 
the surgeon-superintendent who has charge of the Neptune, tells me 
his instructions are positive, and that he carries out instructions 
oqually positive, to Sir Harry Smith, the governor, for instant 
disembarkation of the whole crew. Still, if the colonists make it 
manifest that they are nearly unanimous in opposition, or even that 
a large minority of them feel strongly opposed to the introduction 
of convicts into their country, it-, would surely be very tyrannical 
and insolent in the English government to force the measure with a 
high hand. To have one’s country and the home of one’s children 
turned into a sink of felony, where the colluvies of a vast empire 
is to settle and fester, is no light matter. I shall certainly feel no 
surprise if we find on our arrival at the Cape, that Sir Harry Smith 
has received orders to pass us on to Australia. 


o’CONNELL, A PORTRAIT. 


157 


For my own particular, I might perhaps not choose to sail in this 
ship, with the chance of being carried all round the habitable globe 
with such a ship’s company, knocking at the door of all the continents 
and isles, to see if they will give shelter to 300 ill-omened strangers : 
—but I am flying for life. On the whole I am content, even to go 
to Australia, even in such company, rather than await another 
winter in these summer isles : and am absolutely setting forth on my 
voyage with a heart nearly as light as my purse (which has but 
thirteen shillings in it). Grim Death is behind me, among the black 
cedars. And even should the ill-favored son-of-a-whore give chase, 
I will outstrip him in this broad-winged ship—he shall have a race 
for it athwart the ecliptic, through seventy degrees of latitude, 
into regions whereon the Great Bear never shone—And if the Grim 
Feature overtake me there, I will fight him while a shot is in the 
locker. 

Our voyage to the Cape, as they calculate, will hold us about two 
months. Hurrah! as poor old Dan used to say—“My bosom’s lord 
sits lightly on his throne”—Africa will be sure to bring forth some 
new thing, according to the. ancient wont of that fruitful mother of 
monsters.* 

Poor old Dan!—wonderful, mighty, jovial, and mean old man! 
with silver tongue and smile of witchery, and heart of melting ruth ! 
—lying tongue! smile of treachery! heart of unfathomable fraud! 
What a royal, yet vulgar soul! with the keen eye and potent swoop 
of a generous eagle of Cairn Tual—with the base servility of a 
hound, and the cold cruelty of a spider! Think of his speech for 
John Magee, the most powerful forscnic achievement since before 
Demosthenes—and then think of the “gorgeousand gossamer” theory 
of moral and peaceful agitation, the most astounding organon of 
public swindling since first man bethought him of obtaining money 
under false pretences. And after one has thought of all this, and 
more, what then can a man say ? what but pray that Irish earth may 
lie light on O’Connell’s breast—and that the good God who knew 
how to create so wondrous a creature may have mercy upon his soul. 

April 23 d .—I find myself provided with a very filthy little cabin 
here, having a window that looks forward over the quarter-deck. On 
the quarter-deck the soldiers, not on duty, saunter about, smoking and 

* u Vulgare Gnecirn dictum—Semper aliquid novi Africam afferre.”—Plin. Nat. 
Hist. VIII. 16. 


158 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


chatting. Beyond the gangway forward, the prisoners, in their Ber¬ 
muda uniforms, are swarming over deck, forecastle, and bulwarks, 
but are not allowed to come aft. Above is the poop-deck, where I 
am privileged to walk, long, broad, and clean, affording ample scope 
for exercise. On this poop also saunter and smoke two officers of the 
military guard. 

Dr. Dees, as the “ surgeon-superintendent ” is named, commands 
in chief, and wears the epaulettes of a na val surgeon. He came this 
morning into my cabin, and divining what he came to talk about, I 
was minded to give him a taste of my quality, that he and I might 
understand one another, and be at our ease for the voyage. He 
began by telling me that arrangements had been made at Bermuda 
by which I was to have the same accommodations as to board, &c., 
that they had in the cuddy ; and that if I wanted anything I should 
let him, Dr. Dees, know. I answered that I was quite sure I should 
want for nothing—that at any rate I made it a rule never to ask for 
anything, and never to complain of anything—but that as to the 
special arrangements in my behalf I was quite at a loss to know 
what claim I had to any better accommodations than other prisoners. 
“All I know about it,” said he, “is that matters have been so 
ordered by the Governor of Bermuda—I regret,” added the doctor, 
“ that you must live quite solitary here, and have no access to the 
cuddy, nor intercourse with the officers of the guard ; not that I 
myself would have the least objection, nor, I presume, the officers 
either ; but in fact—the fact is ”- 

“ The fact is,” supplied I, “ that you and they would be dragged 
before Parliament, like Captain Wingrove, or perhaps tried by court- 
martial.” “Exactly so: that is just the whole case.” “Well, 
then, sir,” I said, “ make your mind very easy about all that. Ever 
since I have become a prisoner, and cannot choose my company, I 
prefer my own society to any other. The worthy gentlemen in Par¬ 
liament are much mistaken if they imagine the society of any state- 
cabin in her majesty’s navy would be an honor or a comfort to me ; 
and as for the military officers you mention, if they do not obtrude 
themselves on me, be assured I shall not obtrude myself on them.” 

Dr. Dees was silent a little while, and then said, “ The truth is, 
that in your case all official persons who have to do with you seem to 
be constantly well watched ; and, after the proceedings of Parliament 
and the Admiralty board in respect of Captain Wingrove and the offi¬ 
cers of the Shearwater, we are all afraid of being involved in some- 



THE 


SURGEON SUPERINTENDENT. 


159 


(i 


1i 


tiling unpleasant.” “ It seems,” I answered, “ that in my case formal 
conviction and actual deportation are not enough,—it needs the con¬ 
tinued and strenuous exertions of both branches of the legislature and 
the admiralty, and the Colonial office, to keep me in my new position 
of a felon, or even to force their own officers to pretend for one 
moment that they regard me as a convict or a felon at all.”—He 
laughed, and said that was true enough ; “ But indeed,” he added, “ it 
has been rather a hard matter to know what to do with you,—the 
government, I feel sure, have not been disposed to treat you with 
harshness, or to give you the usage of a common convict;—yet, on 
the other hand, they have public opinion to satisfy; on the whole, 
there has been a good deal of puzzle about it altogether.” 

“ No wonder,” I said 5 “ there is always puzzle and embarrassment 
in carrying through any dishonest transaction :—if I were indeed a 
felon, you know, there ought to be no puzzle at all—and what the 
devil do they mean by ‘ harshness,’ and by not wishing to treat me 
as a convict. Absolutely I am either a felon or not a felon.”—To 
this formula of mine the doctor assented. “And,” I continued, “if 
I am not a felon, then those who sent me here are felons.”—To this he 
apparently thought it prudent neither to assent nor demur ; and I 
did not press him. “Public servants,” quoth the doctor, making a 
general remark, “are sometimes unsafe, even in acting precisely 
according to their instructions ; for they are not permitted to reveal 
those instructions if the matter should become a subject of public 
censure, but must allow the blame and the consequences to fall on 
themselves rather than on the government.”—“ I am well aware of 
that practice,” I answered ; “ it is one of the privileges of a superior 
officer in the British service to invent and publish any story he pleases 
to screen himself and government at the expense of a subordinate— 
and one of the duties of inferior officers to support him in his story, 
though to their own ruin. Captain Wingrove can tell something of 
that practice—and so could Captain Elliott, from his experience in 
China. Perhaps you do not know that he acted in China according to 
his plain instructions, and when the transaction was supposed to have 
turned out unfortunate, and Parliament and the press were raving, 
he durst never plead those orders, but had to let ministers make up 
what story they liked. Indeed, I have no doubt that government, 
after directing Captain Wingrove to do just what he did, would now 
stand coolly by, and see him convicted by a court-martial of conduct 
unbecoming an officer and a gentleman—so you cannot be too cau- 


tious, Doctor.” The doctor seemed to be growing a little uneasy at 
the tone of my remarks ; yet his politeness, I saw, was restraining him 
from stopping me, as he had clearly authority to do ; so I changed 
the subject. He is a mild, well-bred, and amiable man : I believe I 
shall like him—for a gaoler. 

All this day there has been a perfect calm; and the light-house of 
Bermuda is still in sight. One of the prisoners has been assigned me 
as usual, to attend me as a servant 5 and with his help I have been 
arranging matters in my little cabin. 1 shall feel quite at home for 
two months. 


AN AMERICAN BRIG. 


161 


CHAPTER IX. 

An American Brig—Stray Copy of the Daily News— Memorial on behalf of Mr. Duffy 
—The Failure at Ballingarry—Arms Bills—Use of Riots—French Army besieging 
Rome—“ Order ”—Hungary still holds her Ground—Review of my Shipmates— 
Becalmed for Many Weeks—Sickness—Short of Water—The Dead to the Sharks 
—Tropic Seas—Danger of Mutiny—The Parson Frightened—Pernambuco— 
Oranges—Slaves—No “ Facts ” in my Journal—Humboldt’s Howling Monkeys— 
Cyanometer—English Papers at Pernambuco—Six Irish Rebels on their Way to 
Van Diemen’s Land—Two American Skippers—Prince Louis Napoleon on this 
Coast—Home Secretary thinks me Dead—Brazilians, “ Lazy Foreign Lubbers.” 

April 2ith, 1849— At Sea. —We spoke to-day the brig “ Palos,” 
of Boston, homeward bound from Buenos Ayres. Her captain, a 
broad-hatted, lean-faced Yankee, cast an indifferent glance over our 
swarming deck as he asked what port we were bound for. He 
seemed to understand the nature of our cargo right well. Britain’s 
convict-ships are well-known in all seas. 

20 th. —We have a fine breeze from the east, to-day, and are 
running southward at a rapid rate. 

The doctor has sent into my cabin a Daily JVews which came by the 
mail on Sunday.—Now, why could not Mr. Duffy have made ballads in 
some quiet place all his days? As if purposely to relieve the 
enemy from all embarrassment in their “ vindication of the law,” he 
has allowed a petition to government to be got up, very extensively 
signed, praying that, as he is totally ruined, as he has already been 
long confined,—as he is an admirable private character—as his 
health is delicate,—as the violent and revolutionary articles in his 
newspaper appeared during a period of great excitement and 
extended over but a few weeks,—the enemy would, of their mercy, 
forbear to prosecute him farther—the very thing they wished to 
have any decent excuse for. I say he has allowed this petition, 
because no petitioners could make such implied promises of amend¬ 
ment without his sanction, and especially because he has not 


162 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


disowned the mean proceeding-. It is quite in keeping with his 
miserable defence upon his last trial, his production of evidence of 
character, and his attempt to evade the responsibility of articles 
published by himself. Sir Lucius O’Brien, too, who presents this 
memorial to Lord Clarendon, takes occasion to admit the “ guilt ” 
of the culprit. With what joy the enemy must gloat upon this 
transaction, and exult over us and our abandoned cause! The Daily 
JYews seems very glad, as any British newspaper may well be, at 
the appearance of this decent excuse ; says, that for its part, it rather 
thinks a gentleman of so very good a private character may be now 
set at liberty with perfect safety to the public. Shabby and paltry, 
indeed ! A curse upon his private character ! Yet, one cannot be 
angry with Duffy, who need not have been expected to get himself 
hulked for any principle, object, or cause, whatsoever. Duffy never 
could sustain life without puffery; the breath of his nostrils was 
puff —-and these teak timbers are no flatterers. When a man comes 
to this, he touches ground ; all rose-colored puff clouds vanish from 
beneath him, and drift dowm the wind. Let no man live exclusively 
on that deleterious, flatulent pabulum—filling his belly with too 
much east wind. Do we not know that Widenostrils, the swallower 
of wind-mills (whom Pantagruel saw in the dominions of Queen 
Entelechie), when he could no longer get his customary diet, but 
had to chew hard kettles and frying-pans, fell away in his flesh, and 
at last died in the very hands of his physicians. How would Wide¬ 
nostrils have thriven, think you, upon a dietary of iron bars and leg- 
bolts ? Verily, in this Bermuda, nobody seems to be sensible of the 
merits and fame of those fine young literary men who, from their 
little coterie, breathed a new soul into Ireland. 

You cannot get out of any man what is not in him ; but yet this 
miserable grovelling of Duffy’s is a bitter disappointment to me. He 
had a grander opportunity than any one amongst usand now he 
will let the “ Government ” march off the field with some semblance 
of having still a rag of law and constitution to cover them, when ho 
might have torn off every shred and shown them as they are —an 
armed garrison ruling a hostile country at the bayonet’s point. 

Even if ‘ Government ” should refuse compliance with this memo¬ 
rial, and bring him to trial again, what juror will have the heart to 
stand up for a prisoner who has retreated from his position ? Or of 
what value will be his standing up ? The thing is bad every way. 
But the end is not yet. 


THE BALLINGARRY FAILURE. 


163 


I suppose Mr. Duffy and liis advisers, by this promise of abstinence 
from politics, mean to intimate that Ireland’s cause is desperate, or 
is not worth struggling for—mean, so far as they are concerned, 
to give up the country, and let the English “ make a kirk or a mill 
of it.” And this at a time when all color of law is taken away, or 
pel-verted to the ruin of honest men,—when four-fifths of the inhabit¬ 
ants are avowedly debarred from exercising the common functions 
of citizens—one-fifth of them perishing miserably of hunger,—and 
the island occupied by troops as a hostile territory. And so the pro¬ 
prietor of the Nation, for his part, begs pardon—meant no harm by 
all those loud words of his, but was as constitutional as a Quaker all 
the time—and will never do the like again. So precisely the matter 
stands, unless this Daily News grossly misdescribes the “ memorial.” 

A plague of all cowards! The cause is not desperate ; and it is 
both base and impudent to say, to mean, to think, or to hint that it is. 

The Ballingarry failure is hardly, I suppose, to be treated as a cri¬ 
terion.—A gentleman,—a very estimable and worthy gentleman, 
certainly—goes with three or four attendants (who are wholly un¬ 
known to the people they go amongst), into the counties of Kilkenny 
and Tipperary,—and there tells several persons they are to rise in insur¬ 
rection under his guidance and free the country. He has no money, 
this gentleman, to pay the troops, no clothing nor arms to give them, 
no food to keep them alive. He just exhibits a pike, and bids them 
follow him and free the country.—Well, the people are desirous 
enough to free the country : let them be but half armed, half clothed, 
and one-quarter fed, and they will show what mind they are of. But 
this abrupt proposal of the worthy gentleman takes them by surprise. 
Very few of them have any arms at all: for fifty years it has been 
the constant policy of the hostile Government to disarm them, and 
twenty Arms-bills have been enacted since the Union, with that spe¬ 
cial purpose.—Very politic policy it was ; for the enemy knew, that 
if once these people became familiar with arms, they would be sure 
to put them to the only righteous and Christian use. All kinds of 
weapons, therefore, for half a century back, have been associated in 
the minds of Catholic Irishmen, with crime, gaols, informers, petty 
sessions, hand-cuffs and policemen. And as if that were not enough, 
all the influence of the Constitutional Agitators, and in a great mea¬ 
sure of the priests also, has been exerted to make the use of arms appear 
sin against God. They have not been taught that it is the preroga¬ 
tive of Man to bear arms,—that beasts alone go without them—that 


164 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


Arms-bills are passed by the British Parliament, on the same princi¬ 
ple on which other robbers disarm those whom they mean to plunder. 
—No, they have been taught such drivelling maxims as—“Let 
others die for their country—we prefer to live for her.”—“ One living 
patriot is worth a church-yard full of dead ones.”—Now, this is not 
the sort of people—so debased, so benighted, and reduced to a beastly 
helplessness,—that you can expect to rise en masse on a call to arms* 
be their slavery as intolerable, their wrath as deadly, as you will. 
Before there can be any general arming, or aptitude to insurrection, 
there must first be sound manly doctrine preached and embraced. 
And next, there must be many desultory collisions with British troops, 
both in town and country, and the sight of clear steel, and of blood smok¬ 
ing hot, must become familiar to the eyes of men, of boys and of women. 

The American Revolution was begun by riots, “paltry riots,” on 
the streets of Boston : the last grand Lombard insurrection was pre¬ 
pared and ripened by months and years of exasperating collisions in 
theatres and at the corners of streets, until society became one angry 
ulcer, and such will for ever be the history of resistance where the 
oppressed people are individually high-spirited, and not emasculated 
by vicious teaching. 

It is nothing but a pitiful excuse for desertion of the cause to cry 
out now—“ These people do not wish for freedom, are not worthy of 
freedom—they would not rise at Ballinagarry.” I affirm that my 
countrymen are not cowards, and do not love their chains 5 and I do 
hope—captive and exile as I am—to see some day an opportunity 
given them to prove the same. 

It is too clear, however, that for the present, one excuse or another 
—the Ballinagarry failure, the “vigor” of Government, ill-health, 
&c., will serve the weak and irresolute as good reasons for falling 
back on peaceful O’Connellism, or else “ withdrawing from politics” 
—(what a beggarly phrase and idea!), and so staying peaceably in 
Ireland, becoming respectable members of society, and peeping about 
to find themselves dishonorable graves. 

But the history of Ireland is not over yet. 

I see farther, by these latest papers, that the French Republican 
army is actually battering the walls of Republican Rome—to compel 
the Romans to drive away their own chosen Triumviri, (of whom that 
good and noble Italian Mazzini is the chief), and to reinstate the 
“ monstrous regiment ” of priests. There is some vile mistake here ; 
or rather this Bonaparte with his Odillon Barrots, and other politic 


REVIEW OF MY SHIPMATES. 


165 


monarchists about him, is a traitor to Republicanism and to France. 
There is a strong party opposed to him and his Government, who are 
all, without distinction, branded as “ Socialists/’ by the English 
Press. But I begin to imagine that the sincere and thoroughgoing 
Republicans are classed with this very party ; for it is impossible that 
literal Fourier-Owenism should be the creed of any large body of 
men. Heaven knows the social problem in Modern Europe has come 
to be a hard one ; but Fourier-Owenism is not the solution. 

Would I could see some French papers: I am in the dark. 

One thing is easy to see—that a stupid cant has arisen above “ Or¬ 
der,”—as if order were the chief end of man and of Society. Of 
course the moneyed people do their best to spread this cant, let 
what a senseless cant! Order, quotha!—there is more order in the 
hulks of Bermuda than in the Champs Ely sees. 


Hungary keeps Austria gallantly at bay. The Kaiser has called 
upon the Czar for aid: which he will be too ready to give. Kossuth 
is a great genius and hero. 

But in India, the enemy have obtained a signal victory over the 
Seiks, and have taken and robbed Moultan, one of the cities that 
Burnes set for them. Moultan was very gallantly defended. 

28th. _We are running near Barbadoes, and, as I hear, must tack 

northward again. The weather is lovely, and not oppressively hot. I 
am in high health, and walk and lounge on the poop lazily, and with 
right vacant mind by night and day. Not being a “ Member of 
Society.” and not having the entree of the cuddy, I keep my own 
hours, dress as I like, and hold no communication save with the doc¬ 
tor and with a species of parson or “ Instructor,” such as they always 
send in convict-ships. The skipper is an old, red-whiskered Scotch¬ 
man and the cuddy-circle is composed of the said skipper, the doctor, 
two tarry individuals called mates, the first and the second mate, two 
officers of the 91st regiment, and the parson or instructor. The 
skipper and the two mates, tarry but worthy persons, occasionally 
enter into conversation with me when I am in the humor to allow 
them • but the caution of the two gallant officers in that respect 
amuses me : these gentlemen seem resolved that they shall not be 
tried by court-martial for undue attention to me,—and so they give 
me a wide berth on the poop, walking always on the side opposite to 
me At first they seemed to labor under the apprehension that 1 
would try to force myself on their society, and looked sidelong at me 
as a modest maid might look at some horrid man that she thinks is 


166 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


meditating her ravishment. They need not be at all afraid I will 
not violate their British honor. 

The Instructor, whose name is Stewart, a Glaswegian, has very 
obligingly placed his books at my disposal during my voyage. He 
reads service to a small number of Protestants who are amongst the 
convicts,—sets them to learn reading, and tries to make some 
impression on them in the way of reformation. When he speaks to 
me, however, he never mentions religion, which shows his discrimi¬ 
nation. 

Thus I take reconnaissance of those who are to be my shipmates for 
two months. 

July 12th—Twelfth of July. I trust the maniacs in the North of 
Ireland are not cutting one another's throats to-day.* Yet, if they 
are, there is one comfort in it—those whose throats are cut will not 
be starved to death. 

We are nearly three months at sea : never once in sight of land ; 
and have not yet gone half-way to the Cape. Such stupid 
navigation, I believe, has not been heard of, at least since the 
invention of the mariner’s compass. Three times we have crossed the 
Line—passed three times slowly and tediously through that belt 
of the ocean called the “region of calms .” The captain has long 
since given up all hopes of reaching the Cape without touching some¬ 
where ’ Brazil for provisions and water ; and we are now shaping 
our co rse for Pernambuco. The crew and prisoners are on half 
ratiom and half-allowance of water : the water has grown very bad, 
black, hot, and populous with living creatures. Sickness has 
begun to prevail both among prisoners and soldiers: and we have 
already pitched overboard seven corpses to the sharks. Many are 
frightfully ill in scurvy: fever is strongly apprehended ; and as this 
delay has occurred in the hottest region of the globe (we are eight 
weeks on the very line, or within three degrees of it), the only matter 
of surprise is, that so few have died yet. A few days ago, the doctor 
issued orders to give each person only quarter allowance of water— 
namely, a pint and a half in the day, to serve for cooking, for tea, 
and for drinking; but that very evening came down a tremendous 
tropical torrent of rain—and by properly arranging the awning, 

* For the elucidation of this passage to American readers, I should mention that 
the 12tli of July is the principal anniversary consecrated by the Northern Orange¬ 
men, to celebrate the victories of the Dutch King of England over their own 
countrymen. 


TROPIC 6EAS. 


167 


and fitting it with a canvass tube, ten tons of clear cool water were 
caught, and conducted into barrels in the hold, all within six hours. 
The thermometer has been for weeks at about 84 of Fahrenheit, and 
this glorious shower was high luxury to every one on board. W hen 
it grew dark I went out to the gangway, stark-naked, and stood there 
awhile, luxuriating in the plenteous shower-bath. 

This gracious shower gives us a prospect of reaching Pernambuco 
on half instead of quarter allowance of w r ater. 

For me, I positively enjoy everything—heat and coolness, wet 
and dry, whole rations, half rations, and quarter rations : and after 
basking in the sun like a tortoise all day, I smoke and drink con¬ 
siderably at night. Not that the sun—if one is to speak by the card 
—really shines much in these equinoctial regions, but the w r arm ail 
is quite luxurious enough to bask in. 

July 13th .—Your shark is but a puny fish: eight or nine of them 
have been dragged on board here since we came within the tropics, 
and scores have been seen swimming around us that would not take 
the bait—not one of them above five feet long, with an opening to 
serve for mouth hardly wide enough to admit a good cocoa-nut, and 
innumerable small, flat, cartilaginous, triangular teeth, so tiiin and 
weak that a good kick from a strong boot would be sure to drive 
sixty or seventy of them down their throats. Their flesh looks rank 
and coarse, and has an evil smell, even fresh killed, but a few 'f the 
sailors and prisoners eat it. 

This weary “ region of calms ” has a strange and mysterious spect, 
with a Stygian twilight hanging over it, and an infinite silence, as of 
the realms of Dis. The air is damp, warm, dark, almost palpable. 
Save one black squall, or at most two, in the day, there is not a 
breath of wind ; but the sky is an uniform grey, and there is a heavy 
swell in the dark, glutinous-looking waters. We are altogether out 
of the track of ships, too, and have been many weeks rolling upon 
this sunless sea in ghostly solitude. I repeat often to myselt: 

“ The very deep did rot—oh Christ! 

That ever this should he— 

And slimy things did crawl, with legs, 

Upon the slimy sea.” 

If a squall comes upon us at night, and sends us for a quarter of 
an hour flying through the water under reefed topsails, we leave a 
wake of pale fire shooting far astern into outer darkness, and the foam 
from the ship's bow rushes blazing past like Pyriphlegethon in spate. 


168 


JAIL JOFENAL. 


A heavy shower is always a blessing to us, and I never knew so 
well before the exquisite luxury of a draught of cool, fresh 
water,—not even after half a day’s ranging over dry mountain-tops, 
wheu I came upon a green hollow, with its clear stream, or a well 
under the shade of some rock, hiding its diamond treasure from the 
thirsty sun. Sometimes I sit here for hours, watching the course of a 
black rain-cloud on the leaden-colored horizon, as it sails heavily on 
with freight of gracious waters, and makes the “ wine-dark sea ” 
pitch-black beneath—hoping that the lazy veering tropic breezes may 
bear it hitherward. I keep my fierce thirst to be quenched out of its 
dusky bosom, patiently eschewing the black ship-liquid and lime- 
juice, and lustfully eyeing the wealth of sweet water that, “ker¬ 
chiefed in a comely cloud,” comes this way sailing like a stately 
ship of Tarshish, bound for the isles of Javan or Gadire, with all her 
bravery on. I have visions of crystal brooks, and my ear and brain 
are filled with the murmuring of the Roe and Bann. I cherish and 
enjoy my raging thirst (hoping speedily to drown the fiery fiend in 
such a rushing flood), and ingeniously torment it by thinking all 
thirsty thoughts—of gorged wolves lapping, with dry tongues, the 
fountain of black water—of caravans faring through calcined Syrian 
deserts—of the mariner who had to bite his arm and suck the blood 
before he could sing out—A sail! a sail! But lo! now, three leagues 
off, or more, before my envious eyes, the disdainful rain-cloud stoops 
at last to the ocean, and lavishes her priceless treasure, to the last 
bright drop, on the ungrateful, unfruitful brine ;—“ the wilderness 
wherein there is no man.” And what art thou, Oh man! that the 
bottles of heaven should decant themselves to thee ? Canst thou lift 
up thy voice to the clouds, that abundance of waters may cover thee? 
Hath the rain a father? Or wdio hath begotten the drops of the 
dew ? Not I. So I must quench my enemy with the ship-liquid, 
qualified with a little lime-juice and sugar, and, for that matter, a 
glass of brandy. 

July 14 th .—We begin this day to feel the first breath of the south¬ 
east trade-wind ; and being now as far east as 25° W. L., the captain 
hopes to be able on this wind to make Pernambuco in a few days, 
without being swept by the current to leeward of Cape St. Roque 
once more, in which latter case w~e should certainly fare very ill. I 
can perceive that the strong probability of making the port this time 
is a great relief to the surgeon-superintendent, who has been extremely 
anxious for some days past. And well he may ; if provisions and 


PERNAMBUCO. 


160 


water should altogether run out, and the ship still far at sea, or 
becalmed off an unknown coast, with four hundred men on board, 
and three hundred of them desperate reprobates—discipline would 
soon vanish, and the question would be, which of the well-fed cabin- 
people should be first, which last devoured. The parson is rather fat, 
and some days ago he imparted his anxieties to me with white lips— 
“ We shall have mutiny here,” said he—“We shall have murder, and 
cannibalism, and everything horrible.” I told him cannibalism was 
beginning to be rather common—that in Ireland people had been 
eating each other for some time, though lean—and I eyed his well- 
filled waistcoat. He shuddered visiblysaid he trusted it would all 
end well. 

July VSth .—We are, beyond all doubt, fairly in the trade-wind, and 
nearing the coast of South America at the rate of 150 miles a-day. 
Poor Hr. Dees, who has been suffering both from ill-health and 
anxiety, begins to look more cheerful: the chaplain eats his dinner 
with a better appetite—feels he is fattening for his own behoof: the 
gallant officers even, though always exhibiting a gentlemanly sang 
froid, smoke, methinks, somewhat more placidly. The “belt of 
calms ” is now behind us, and a brisk, dry, southeasterly breeze 
ripples the blue water : the sun once more goes biasing over the 
zenith in his daily course, and plunges into the sea at evening in 
glory unimaginable. We have passed clear out of the Acherontean 
pools, and revisit the blessed sunshine. 

July ISth—Land ! A far-stretching, low-lying coast, within two 
miles a-head, thickly mantled with majestic woods down to the water’s 
edge—tall cocoa-nut palms standing ranked on the very sea-sands, 
a stately, white-walled, high-towered city, extending full two miles 
along the shore, built down to high-water mark, and seeming hardly 
able to make good its footing on the edge of that unconquerable forest. 
On both sides of it, the vigorous vegetable life seems to mingle with 
houses and convents, and push itself into the streets j and as the land 
gently rises beyond, I can see it deeply covered for leagues, even to 
the tops of distant hills, with the umbrage of untamed woods. But 
an hundred and twenty thousand human beings lead their lives in 
this city between forest and ocean; there are many great churches 
and monasteries of imposing Lusitanian architecture great stores 
and quays, and in the harbor ships of all nations. It seems these 
forests are tracked by certain mule-paths, leading to pasture-prairies, 
and plantations of sugar, coffee, and tobacco, far inland, of which 

8 


170 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


Pernambuco is the port of export. On the ships riding at anchor, 
besides the Brazilian green and yellow ensign. I see the North Ameri¬ 
can, the French, the English, the Dutch, the Peruvian, and, on one 
vessel anchored about a mile from us, the yellow banner of Fever. 

Here we expect to procure a supply of fresh beef (of wild oxen 
captured by the lasso), and some water, and yams, limes, and oranges, 
to rout the scurvy. We are in deadly need of them. 

20th .—Boats have come off to-day bringing store of oranges, limes, 
vegetables and fresh baked bread. The oranges are very large and 
delicious, some with a brown rind like russet-apples, and others 
emerald-green. I became proprietor of thirty for sixpence, and shall 
never, never wish to forget the brutal rapture with which I devoured 
six of them on the spot. Several of those who had charge of these 
boats and merchandise were slaves, perhaps African born (for these 
Brazilian ports, together with Havana, are great marts of African 
men). I surveyed them long and earnestly, for before this day I 
never saw a slave in his slavery—I mean a merchantable slave, a. 
slave of real money-value, whom a prudent man will, in the way of 
business, pay for and feed afterwards.—The poor slaves I have been 
accustomed to see are not only of no value, but their owners will go 
to heavy expense to get rid of them—not imported slaves, but sur¬ 
plus slaves for export,—slaves with a glorious Constitution, slaves 
with a Palladium —a Habeas Corpus to be suspended, and a Trial by 
Jury whereby they may have the comfort of being rooted out of 
house and home, transported and hanged at the pleasure of the “ up¬ 
per classes.” These slaves in Brazil are fat and merry, obviously 
not overworked nor underfed, and it is a pleasure to see the lazy rogues 
lolling in their boats, sucking a piece of green sugar-cane, and grin¬ 
ning and jabbering together, not knowing that there is such an atrocity 
as a Palladium in the whole world. Besides, the condition of slaves in 
any Spanish, Portuguese, or French colony, is not by any means so 
abject as it was under the English and is under the Americans. To 
the exercise of power this Anglo-Saxon race always adds insolence. 
Slaves in Brazil are expected to work moderately, but are not treated 
with contumely. They are often admitted to th,e society of the 
families they serve, and lead in some measure the life of human 
beings. Is it better, then, to be the slave of a merciful master and a 
just man, or to bo serf to an Irish land-appropriator ? God knoweth. 

I do not pretend that I altogether like the sight of these slaves. If 
I were a rich man I would prefer to have my wealth in any other 

«• 1 ^ ‘ ^ #• * i + . 1 

v j ’ rv.*- ' • - * t' •VvVl 


NO FACTS IN MY JOURNAL. 


171 


kind of commodity or investment,—except, of course, the credit- 
funds. 

July 2 5th .—We have keen a week lying off Pernambuco, revelling 
on yams and fruit. The yam is a most admirable vegetable, hardly 
distinguishable in taste, color or texture, from a good potato,—far 
better than the average of potatoes, especially in these latter years: 
—but though native to this fat South American soil, yams are exor¬ 
bitantly dear, £20 per ton: which indeed seems incredible. And 
while oranges are five for a penny, new milk in this land of cattle is 
sixpence per pint. I cannot examine or explain these “ facts ’ in 
political economy, inasmuch as I am not permitted to go ashore. 
And even if I were permitted, perhaps I would not ask a single 
question about them. Indeed, on looking over all my memorandum- 
book, purporting to be a journal, I find there are shamefully few 
«facts” in it. I have made no “additions to science.' 1 Useful 
knowledge will be no whit the better for me. I remember that the 
indefatigable Humboldt, while he wandered in these same South 
American woods, observed, amongst many other things certain mon¬ 
keys which always howled in the trees at sunrise it was in the 
llanos of Caraccas and that great man, by multiplied observations, 
ascertained that the distance at which their howling could be heard 
was, as near as possible, “ 1705 yards. 1 ’ The preciseness and im¬ 
portance of this “fact” has made it dwell distinctly on my memory, 
though I have forgotten many minor things. Now, to arrive at so 
satisfactory a result the philosopher must have made repeated obser¬ 
vations and careful measurement,—some mornings to windward ot 
the monkeys, and again to leeward, and then calculated the mean. 
Cannot I also try to observe some phenomenon or other, marine or me¬ 
teorological, and enrich science ? Was it not the same Baron von Hum¬ 
boldt who had his “ cyanometer,” a delicate instrument for measuring 
the intensity of blue in the sky? It was an invention of that great 
man’s own, and he set much store by it. 1 do fear it is but unphi o- 
sophical to keep gazing up into this blue empyrean by day and night, 
like a beast, without having its intensity marked for me on a gra¬ 
duated scale. . .. . 

July 2 Gth. —Dr. Dees has just brought off to the ship English papers, 

up to 12th June.— and after a useless appeal to the English House ot 
Lords, and judgment against them, Smith O'Brien, Meagher, 
O’Donoghoe and MacManus are to be sent off instantly to V an Die¬ 
men’s Land ; Martin and O’Dogherty are to go too. They are all 


172 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


six on the high Atlantic this day. They protest against being trans¬ 
ported, pleading that the queen’s commutation of their sentence of 
death is illegal—as it is. But ministers ask Parliament for an “ act ” 
to make it legal.—Of course they will get it, and without delay: 
Parliament has confidence in ministers ; and if they asked for an act 
reciting, “ Whereas it is expedient that the bodies of Wm. Smith 
O’Brien, &c. should be put on board the-transport ship and con¬ 
veyed to-” and thereupon enacting the same by and with the 

consent of the Queen’s most Excellent Majesty, &c, &c., why it would 
be passed for them amidst loud applause : for Parliament has confi¬ 
dence in her majesty’s advisers. 

If at any time, for one moment I hesitated about holding my trans¬ 
portation a high honor, I repent of that hesitation now ; for John 
Martin, Smith O’Brien, and Thomas Meagher are transported convicts. 
If any Irishman wish to be accounted an honest man, let him straight¬ 
way get transported—let him aspire to be enrolled amongst those 
whose presence in Ireland is incompatible with the existence of the 
thing called “government” there— 

Aude aliquid brevibus Gyaris et carcere dignum 
Si vis esse aliquis- 

As matter of curious speculation, now, I shall be desirous of watch¬ 
ing the upshot of this business—to see how a government will get on 
after hulking several of the very best men in the country it “ governs” 
—and doing it not by law, but by the open and avowed perversion 
of law. It is an experiment whose result may be worth noting.— 
How coolly I can w r rite of this preternatural atrocity! But my 
friends are all men, not old women. 

July 21th. —I have w r ritten nothing for a week. Have had a low 
fever, and am to-day barely able, for the first time, to crawl upon 
deck. We are still rocking in the roads of Pernambuco ; by British 
tars called Penny-booker. 

I do affirm before God that there are no three men now living in 
Ireland more reverently obedient to law, more thoroughly and de¬ 
voutly loyal, than those three now on their way to the Antipodes as 
felons and outlaws. It is because they reverence law, and scorn 
and loathe the false simulacrum of law—because their souls have 
yearned for peace, order, justice, under the secret majesty of law— 
that they sail in a convict-ship to-day. Analyzing, here at a distance, 




LOUIS BONAPARTE, TRANSPOET E-D . 


173 


the character of all my acquaintances, I know not three other men 
so expressly formed as O’Brien, Martin, and Meagher, for a life of 
tranquil enjoyment, and the discharge of all peaceful duties in proud 
obedience to the Laws of the Land.—But they could not stand by and 
see diabolical injustice wrought without end, under this foul pre¬ 
tence of law ;—they would not be parties to the slaughter of their 
countrymen by millions that this foul pretence of law might flourish 
for ages to come—“ and of its fruit their babes might eat and die.” 
—Therefore they sail this day in a convict-ship with the concentrated 
quintessence of all the offal of mankind. 

For my own part, if I had indeed been convicted of a crime 
against the laws of my country I could not support my life—the 
burden of my shame would be too heavy for me to bear. 

Will a day ever come to set these things right ’—Possibly never, on 
earth. “ That which is crooked cannot be made straight, and that 
which is wanting cannot be numbered.” 

I have just had a visit from two American ship-captains, whose 
vessels lie here. They approached me most reverentially, gave me 
some fine language, and very probably took notes of me.* 

August 4th .—A merchant on shore, of the name of Dowsley, has 
sent me a hamper of fruit. He says he is an Irishman, and claims a 
right to show me civility on that account. 

Have not of course asked leave to go ashore, though probably I 
might have leave for the asking—but I ask for nothing. I remember, 
—if that be any comfort—that Prince Louis Bonaparte, when he was 
transported in Louis Philippe’s time, and his ship lay in the harbor 
of Rio on this same coast, was kept in close custody on board, and not 
permitted to set a foot on shore notwithstanding urgent entreaty. 
One would not neglect any topic of consolation that turns up. The 
mates and the doctor, however, who have visited the city, tell me it 
is a very bustling place of business, with dirty and narrow streets, 
barely wide enough for two loaded mules to pass, no carriages, a 
great many pretty women, Portuguese and Quadronas, white and 
Hrown,_tell me, in short, what anybody may find in books. 

The enemy thinks I am dead. In a parliamentary report in one of 
the papers, I read that the Home Secretary, replying to some inquiries 
about me on the 3d April, spoke as followsOn his arrival at Ber- 

* So they did. I have just read in the Dublin Freeman's Journal, the account 
which these worthy skippers gave of their interview. BothweU, V. D. L. 12th August , 

1850. 


174 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


muda, ho was found to be in such a state of health that his prolonged 
sojourn in that island was out of the question. It was accordingly 
arranged [ after a solitary ‘ sojourn ’ of ten months ] that he should 
be transported to the Cape of Good Hope, where he would be allowed 
a ‘ ticket of leave,’ in the event of his surviving till he reached 
that colony—a contingency which, judging by the most recent ac¬ 
counts of his health, appeared to be very doubtful.” Let the Secre¬ 
tary be comforted. He will rejoice when he learns that a sea-voyage 
has been so beneficial to his interesting patient’s health.—It may be, 
after all, that the rogues want to kill me. 

August 9 th. —Pernambuco still: we are now nearly three weeks at 
anchor here, and not yet supplied with stores for our outward voyage. 
The reason is, we are lying in an open roadstead two miles from land^ 
exposed to the unbroken roll of the Atlantic ; and usually the swell 
is so high that the merchant who has contracted to supply us cannot 
induce the people to come out in their lighters. Then, perhaps, a fine 
day comes, but it is a holy-day, so the bells are all ringing, the 
people in their gala dresses, and nothing to be done. Our people, 
skipper and mates, damn the lazy foreign lubbers—“ Think of the 
excuse the rascals make,” said the mate to me—“ They don’t choose 
to risk the.*loss of their slaves, coming off in this weather—Damn 
their eyes ! Why English or American boatmen would have finished 
the job long ago.” Indeed the Brazilian people who come off to the 
ship take the impatience of these English coolly, and as a matter of 
course—they expect it always, and seem to regard headlong hurry as 
a national disease, pitying the sufferers, but taking good care not to 
be affected themselves. I do respect an indolent nation, a nation that 
will take its time, will take its holy-days, and will not risk the loss of 
its slaves. Your English and Yankees go too much ahead,—hardly 
give themselves time to sleep and cat, let alone praying,—keep the 
social machinery working at too high a pressure (endangering the 
bursting of their boilers), and are for ever out of breath—Do they call 
this living ? 

Long life, then, to the subjects of the emperor,—seeing they insist 
upon living all their lives : long and easy life to them : long may 
they reap without need of sowing :—may the forest yield them store 
of plaintain and spontaneous cassava-bread—may their sugar canes 
drop abundant sweetness, and boundless prairies rear them countless 
herds !—So shall holy-days abound, and the Virgin and all saints be 
duly honored. 


BRAZIL 8LAYE TRADE. 


175 


CHAPTER X. 

v - ~ ~ , 

Slaves and Slave-trade in Brazil—Benevolent Pirates—Elections in Brazil—Vanish 
South America—Ocean Visions—Lessons from Sea-Pigeons—British Convict 
System—The Railway Swindler—The Railway King—Habits of British Soldiers 
—Promotion to the Hulks—Night at Sea—The Irish Prisoners—Dismal Songs— 
The Cape of Good Hope—Africa, Beware !—Africa Brings Forth Aliquid Novi. 

August the Ninth—On board the JVeptune off Pernambuco .— 
Let me not omit, after all, to chronicle here the fact that Brazil 
cannot be an absolute paradise either for white, black, brown, or red. 
—But a few months have passed by since there was a bloody insur¬ 
rection of the slaves in this Pernambuco. And, Dr. Dees tells me, 
the city bears ample witness to its violence in wrecked houses and 
the like. In the other two great cities of Rio and Bahia, also, there 
have been formidable insurrections of late. I see no great harm iu 
this: the moment the black and brown people are able, they will 
have a clear right to exchange positions with the Portuguese race ;— 
but, perhaps, not till then. 

For the actual traffic in slaves from Africa, it was always sad 
enough to think of; but Sir Fowell Buxton (this I believe is the 
name of him) and his humane accomplices in the British Parliament 
have aggravated the horrors of it four-fold. For in order to procure 
the requisite supply now, in spite of the pirate cruisers of humanity, 
four times the number of slaves have to be shipped ; they calculate 
on losing three cargoes out of four, but those three cargoes, if so lost 
to them, are not taken from them by the cruisers and set free or 
“ apprenticed,”—not at all—they are thrown overboard all alive, to 
avoid the forfeiture of the ships. When slavers are chased by a 
humanity pirate, and in danger of being taken, they simply pitch all 
the negroes into the sea, together with the loose planks that make 
the slave deck, and then lie to and invite the British officer on 


176 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


board. He finds no slaves, and by the terms of the treaties must let 
the ship go free. Then the captain proceeds along the coast of Africa 
again to get another cargo. But this is not the only loss the 
shippers have to count upon. Formerly they used, for their own 
sake, to provide roomy ships for the slaves, and to embark in 
each only so many as could be properly accommodated, with due 
attention to their health if it w^ere but pigs a man were importing 
from abroad, he would take care to have them stowed in such a 
manner as would give him a good chance of receiving them alive :— 
but by reason of the benevolent pirates, they have now to build 
small brigs and schooners, with a view to speed mainly, and stow 
the poor creatures in a solid mass, with their heads touching the 
deck as they sit, and each man having another man sitting between 
Ms legs—each body being thus in actual contact with other bodies 
on all its four sides—every man flattening his nose against a woolly 
head in front, and having a nose flattening itself against his own 
■woolly head behind. So Sir Fowell Buxton has arranged them. 
Therefore, about one third of them always die, and the survivors 
arrive in a state of miserable debility and pain, from which many 
never recover. 

Few persons, except some serious old women, are such fools as to 
believe that the British Government keeps on foot that African 
armament with any view to humanity at all, or conscience, or 
Christianity, or any of the fine things they pretend in Parliament. 
They have just two motives in it ;—one is to cut off the supply of 
labor from the sugar growers of Brazil and Cuba, or make it so dear 
to them that they cannot compete with the planters of Jamaica and 
Barbadoes ;—and the other, is to maintain British “ naval supre¬ 
macy ” and the piratical claim of a right to search ships, and 
accustom the eyes of all who sail the seas to the sight of the English 
flag domineering over everything it meets, like a bully, as it is. - 

Aug. 10 th. —To-day I learn that we have actually got our stores 
on board, and are to weigh anchor to-morrow. Had a visit from 
Mr. Dowsley, who is our contractor for supplying the ship. Asked 
him a great deal about Brazil; he says it is a noble country to live 
in,—“ and a genuine land of liberty, too,” he added. Told him I 
w r as not quite prepared to hear that; “ but you mean,” quoth I, 
“ that the laws are made by Brazilians, not by strangers, and are 
fairly administered, and for Brazil, not for any foreign nation :—if 
you mean that, it is liberty indeed.” He did not exactly mean that, 


VANISH, SOUTH AMERICA. 


177 


though that was all true—he meant that they had regular represent¬ 
ative government and elections, “ and all that.”—Asked him how 
the elections were carried on—if there was much excitement and 
party-feeling—also what the party-feeling was all about, and what 
parties they were at all—“ Party-feeling !” said he, “ excitement!” 
Oh there is nothing of all that—the whole business is managed by 
the police.”—“By the police? Is there not voting then? are there 
not rival candidates ?” “ No, no : the police provide the candidate, 

—and as to voting, or venturing to propose rival candidates, bless 
your soul! the police would allow nothing of that sort—they would 
soon clear out the place, and shut it up.”—“The key,” quoth I. 
“ belongs, I suppose, to the emperor. But I understand you now ; 
and if the laws be indeed, as you say, just, and fairly administered, 
why Brazil is a genuine land of liberty—only the police elections 
might perhaps be dispensed with.” 

Mr. Dowsley tells me I have many friends in Pernambuco—so 
many that, said he, whenever you are at liberty to go where you 
like, you could not do better than come and settle here. Told him 
I should consider that, so soon as the world was all before me w'here 
to choose. He gave me, also, a pleasant piece of news, if true,— 
that my brother William has obtained a situation under the Ame¬ 
rican government, and that he is residing at Washington. There 
could be no mistake, he said, for the person was described in the 
American papers as Mr. William Mitchel, brother to the rebel. 

12 th. —Came on deck this morning, and saw, dimly fading off on 
the horizon, the long-stretching coast of South America, with its 
beautiful white-walled city and endless wdlderness of primeval 
forests. It is all gone : the sun is high, and we are in blue water 
again. Have my eyes verily seen forests and cities on the firm con¬ 
tinent of South America, firm, rock-based, wide-watered continent, 
crowned by the many-fountained Cordilleras ? Or is it all a ghostly 
dream? A dream indeed, and also real; I have eaten golden fruit 
fresh plucked from Hesperidean trees—I have drank of cool waters 
that gashed out of far Brazilian mountains, where the arch-chemist 
Sun breeds diamond and chrysolite—I have heard the tolling of 
South American bells, noted the time by a South American clock, jet 
never set foot on South American ground. This authentic vision has 
passed before my face—whether in the body or out of the body I 
cannot tell—and is gone—the wind’s wings have wafted it—the great 
deep has opened and swallowed it. Adieu ! adieu ! 

8 * 


178 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


There is somewhat dreamlike indeed in this life I am leading. My 
utter loneliness in this populous ship amidst the strange grandeur of 
the ocean, and for so many days,—the continual bustle and work, 
with their incidental merriment or quarrelling, that naturally go on 
where four distinct communities are jostling each other—the sailors, 
the convicts, the soldiers and the cabin gentry (besides me w T ho am a 
community by myself).—And the numberless questions that arise to 
be settled and interests to be reconciled almost within arm’s length 
of me,—while for me no question or interest arises at all, but all my 
life is in the seeing of the eye only :—and then my objective familiarity 
with the faces, names, voices, and even characters of these soldiers 
who are for ever talking, laughing, and humming their tunes (the 
w'hole detachment have but three) before my open window, while they 
know not the sound of my voice :—and then this wondrous rising, 
like an exhalation from the sea, of gorgeous forests and cities, and 
again their wondrous setting—All this makes me feel like a man 
before whose entranced vision some phantasmagory is flitting by : 
they are ghosts, these sailors and soldiers, doing their ghostly business 
before me on the great deep for a season; and in the morning the 
cock will crow for me in some distant land, and I shall awake, and 
the whole rout of Atlantic spirits shall vanish speedily, shrieking on 
the blast.—Whereupon enter other ghosts. 

But do I learn nothing—find no food for thought in the movements 
and gibberings of these ghosts?—In the actions and relations, external 
and internal of these four commonwealths, in the psychological 
phenomena of so many phantasmic men, is there then no light, no 
order, nothing but the chaotic stuff that dreams are made of? Here 
also is not my long neglected education making progress? Even 
here there is pabulum for the soul, more or less,—and a harvest for 
the quiet eye to reap- 

B aQelav uXoica did typevoc Kaprcoofievov , 

?/C (God send it!) ra aedva BXaordvet 
BovXev/j.ara. 

Sept. 1 1th. —A month from Pernambuco— Four months and twenty 
days from Bermuda—yet still, more than a thousand miles from the 
Cape ; but we have now a steady fair wind, which is often a heavy 
gale, and forces us to strip to our close-reefed topsails. It is here 
the depth of the southern winter, and as we are several degrees south 



LESSONS FROM CAPE -PIGEONS. 


179 


of the Cape latitude, it is very cold. After the flagrant equinoctial 
summer we have passed, I am somewhat sensitive to the chill of this 
wind from the antarctic ice-mountains—and my enemy, like a cow¬ 
ardly lubber, has made several foul attacks upon me ; but I have de¬ 
fied him and trampled him under foot. A flock of Cape-pigeons never 
leaves us :—these are, in fact, a kind of petrels, but the British tar 
calls them Cape-pigeons. They are most beautiful and graceful 
creatures as they skim, on level wings, round and round the ship 
(making no more account of our nine-knot speed than they do of the 
precession of the equinoxes)—or, as they float, with their white breasts 
proudly undulant on the long swell. Also, we have usually three or 
four great albatrosses flying round, with their long, sinewy, rigid 
wings (twelve feet from tip to tip), bent into the shape of a Turkish 
scymitar. Heaven knows how deeply I envy these albatrosses their 
sublime faculty of locomotion, and the preternatural lungs the devils 
have. Is there in all the world an asthmatic albatross ? I think not; 
for if any one of them were so afflicted, the rest would instantly set 
upon him and put him to death, according to that universal instinct 
which prevails among brutes, and perhaps ought to prevail among 
men also, those anomalous and fallen brutes. A herd of deer will drive 
the wounded one from their society, or gore him to death : poultry 
have no sympathy with a sick hen : your community of beavers—a 
well-regulated commonwealth—keeps no hospital for ailing beavers, 
but just sends them down the river. Even amongst mankind, the sim¬ 
ple-minded, unsophisticated Troglodyte carefully strangled all their 
worn-out and sickly fellow-citizens, but solemnly and in an honorable 
manner, with a cow’s tail. One of the soldiers here caught a Cape- 
pigeon in a lasso, put a broad collar of red cloth on it, and sent it off 
again ; it flew about the ship as usual for awhile, but the others, when 
they observed its red deformity, fell upon the poor bird with great ani¬ 
mosity, and he soon disappeared from their company. This is not for 
nought |—are sick beavers to expect that the public granary will be 
open to them, seeing they never put a grain into it ? Are invalid 
albatrosses, who cannot fish, to think they will be fished for ? Above 
all, is a monstrous red-backed sea-pigeon to be allowed to deprave 
the breed, and in time confound the hereditary colours of the whole 
South-Atlantic family? We are often bid to take lessons of industry 
from bees, beavers, ants—of faithfulness from dogs—of gentleness 
from lambs and doves;—and why may not human statists learn some¬ 
thing of prudent sea-pigeons and politic beavers ; especially as this 


180 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


conservative maxim of social economy is confirmed (for I deny the 
story of the storks) by every beast, after its kind, throughout all 
Zoology. Not that my mind is made up on the applicability of the 
beastly maxim to our case : the civilized human practice may be 
better for human animals, possibly,—in their fallen state, as it were. 
I only throw out the brutal idea, that’s all —ex volucrum monedula- 
rumque regno. One is not bound, I suppose, to make up one’s mind 
on all the questions that arise. 

One question, however, is easily settled. The British transporta¬ 
tion-system is the very worst scheme of criminal punishment that 
ever was contrived ; and I seriously think it was contrived by the 
devil, with the assistance of some friends. Something of its working 
I saw and heard at Bermuda 5 but since I embarked on board this 
ship, Mr. Stewart, the “ instructor,” au intelligent man, has been 
telling me more, and more horrible, particulars. He has had peculiar 
opportunities of making himself acquainted with the details of its 
operation, because, before he became a chaplain to transport ships, 
he was employed for years as a missionary in the pauper purlieus of 
London. The people there, he assures me, speak of transportation 
without the least horror or repugnance, merely as one of the ways of 
making off life, and, on the whole, as rather a good line of business. 
The notion of ignominy that we are accustomed to attach to it, has 
quite disappeared, he tells me, in the midst of the bitter poverty and 
hideous debasement of those regions. Amongst the prisoners 
brought out to Bermuda, in the Neptune’s present excursion, was 
one young man of rather good address, by trade a locksmith. This 
fellow, after he was removed from the depot-prison, and put on board 
the Neptune at Portsmouth, wrote a most affectionate letter jointly 
to his father and mother ; but, as he attempted to send it privately, 
it was intercepted, read, and destroyed. It was to the effect, that he 
had embarked on board ship for Bermuda—that he was in an agree¬ 
able mess—that he was never asked to do anything (like the poor 
devils of sailors and soldiers on board), but ate and drank of the 
best, and walked about “ like a gentleman ’’—that if he had known 
how pleasant a thing it was to be transported, he would have turned 
his attention to it long ago,—that he was in prime spirits, and finally, 
that he intended to take a black woman at Bermuda, and would live 
very happily. This, it seems, is the usual way in which such matters 
are talked of ; and one would not wonder at a man writing to his 
brother-burglar in this strain ; but God’s Mercy ! think of a fellow 


181 


“reformatory discipline.” 

writing to his parents so,—as an encouragement for them to bring 
up his brothers and sisters to the same jolly profession ! 

But if this transportation turns out to be no punishment at all to 
the criminal population generally, it is on the contrary (and partly 
for that very reason) a far too severe punishment—far worse than 
the crudest death—to the unhardened and casual delinquents who 
have sometimes, for one moment of mad passion and sore tempta¬ 
tion, to dree this rueful doom :—No punishment, but a sure and 
comfortable establishment for all the tribe of professed rascaldom,— 
but utter, fin&l shipwreck of soul and body to the poor wanderer, 
who might be taken by the hand and led from the Devil’s path, if 
only the laws were made and administered by any others than the 
Devil’s servants. 

One main feature in convict life I have ascertained to be a deep 
and heartfelt respect for atrocious villainy,—respect the more pro¬ 
found as the villainy is more outrageous. If anything can add to the 
esteem which a man in the felon world secures by the reckless 
brutality of his language and manners, the extent of his present 
thievings, and ingenuity of his daily lyings, it is the enormity of the 
original offence for which he is supposed to be suffering. Several 
instances of this fact, which have been told me since I came on board 
the Neptune, remind me of a whimsical illustration of the same which 
I saw last year, while I passed a few days in the “ Tenedos ” hospital 
ship. On my arrival there, I had hardly been left alone in my cabin 
before a convict softly entered. He was servant to the assistant- 
surgeon, and came with a pine-apple which his master had sent me. 
The man was about fifty years of age, but very stout and active¬ 
looking, and highly consequential in his manner, as it soon turned 
out he had a good right to be.—“ I trust sir,” said he, “ you will find 
everything as you wish here if I can do anything for you I’m sure I 
shall be happy—I’m Garrett .”— u Well, Garrett V ’ quoth I.—Garrett, 
sir, Garrett; you must know all about me it was in all the papers ; 
Garrett, you know.”—“ Never heard of you before, Garrett.”—“ Oh! 
dear, yes sir, you must be quite well aware of it—the great railway 
affair, you remember.”— 1 “ No, I do not.”—“ Oh! then I am Mr. Gar¬ 
rett, who was connected with the-railway. (I forget the name 

of the railway.)—It was a matter of £40,000 I realized. Forty 
thousand pounds, sir:—left it behind me, sir, with Mrs. Garrett: she 
is living in England in very handsome style.—I have been here now 
two years and like it very well—devilish fine brown girls here, sir, 



182 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


—I am very highly thought of—created a great sensation when I 
came. In fact, until you came I was reckoned the first man in 
the colony. Forty thousand pounds, sir,—not a farthing less.—But 
now you have cut me out.’ 7 I rose and bowed to this sublime rascal. 
The overwhelming idea—that I should supersede a swindler of Forty 
Thousand pounds power, was too much for me. So I said, graciously 
bowing, “ Oh, sir, you do me too much honor : I am sure you are far 
more worthy of the post of distinction. For me, I never saw so much 
money in all my life, as forty thousand pounds. 77 —“ My dear sir, 77 
said my friend, bowing back again—“ My dear sir ! but then you are 
a prisoner of state, patriotic martyr, and all that.—Indeed, for my 
part, my little affair was made a concern of State too. Lord John 
Russell, since I came out here, had a private application made to me, 
offering to remit my whole sentence if I would disclose my method— 
the way I had done it, you know: they want to guard against 
similar things in other lines, you understand. 77 —“I trust, sir, 77 quoth 
I, respectfully, “ you treated the man’s application with the contempt 
it deserved.” The miscreant winked with one eye. I tried to wink, 
but failing, bowed again. “ You may be sure of that sir,” said he— 
“ ’tis very little I care for any of them: I enjoy myself here very 
much—have never had a day’s illness—very often go across to this 
nearest island to look after Dr. Beck’s ducks : Ah ! sir, there are two or 
three splendid colored girls on that island : then I sometimes corre¬ 
spond with the newspapers ;—have a private way of gettinganything 
I please sent out, without these people knowing anything about it— 
should be most happy to have any document sent for you in a quiet 
way, you know of course you will want to show up those rascals 
now and then.”—“No, Garrett,” said I, getting tired—“ there, that 
will do, you may leave the room.” The old monster looked a little 
blank, but walked off at once, and as I requested to be protected from 
such intrusion for the future, Dr. Hall took order with him, and I saw 
him no more. 

Now, this railway swindler is a man of rather good address—far 
better than Hudson, the head of his sect, I believe, can boast of; a 
portly man, a respectable man, one who understands his own high 
position in society and his claims to the respect and consideration of 
the world—he has “ done ” the world out of forty thousand pounds ; 
—and it is a claim which amongst true-born Britons is always 
admitted instantly. I shall not be surprised to hear of Mr. Garrett 
representing, a few years hence, some great commercial constituency 


183 


HABITS OF BRITISH SOLDIERS. 

in that majestic assembly the British Parliament, and making 
“ laws ” there. But no, I err—it is only your unconvicted felon 
who can aspire to that honor. If I had the ordering of the matter, 
however, I would transport Garrett to St. Stephen’s to represent 
York there, and return Hudson to Bermuda to serve as member for 
the North Junction Railway :—or else (what would be better still) I 
would hang them both. 

I have done. Absolutely I will lecture on convict economy no 
more ; but only repeat here, that if a prize were offered amongst 
“ thirty thousand cart-loads of black devils ” to any devil of them 
who would invent the most diabolic system of criminal jurisprudence 
for mankind, the devil a fiend amongst them could improve on the 
modern and enlightened British system of transportation. 

Two soldiers before my window have been disputing some matter 
of fact; they have freely called one another liars ; as indeed they 
do continually. This sort of language the poor fellows are obliged 
to take and permitted to return; and to resent it by a blow would 
be treated as a serious breach of discipline. I greatly desire to 
know whether a French or Austrian soldier is obliged to take, and 
allowed to give, the lie direct amongst his comrades. To me it 
seems that nothing is more degrading to manhood than this : except 
only scourging |—and British soldiers have to endure both. But the 
British soldier, or any other British poor man, must not be indulged 
in the feeling of self-respect or personal dignity : that is lor his 
betters respect for the service he may have, jealous regard to the 
honor of his regiment, high pride in those fine young men, his 
officers ;—but a thought of individual honor, and the quick resent¬ 
ment of a personal indignity, are things far above his spheie. An 
officer and a gentleman ” would laugh consumedly at any such 
phenomenon in a private soldier, or other man belonging to one of 
the ungentlemanly castes. 

In no country on earth is the immeasurable distance between 
gentry and vulgar so constantly and offensively kept in view 
throughout the whole social system, as in England. In a “ Tour 
on the Rhine, executed by Chambers, an Edinburgh literator, I 
remember that the writer cannot forbear from showing how much 
his British notions of propriety were confounded, when in some of 
the great frontier garrison-towns occupied by Belgian, Prussian, and 
Austrian troops, he saw officers of high rank nodding familiarly to 
the privates as they passed, or standing chatting and laughing for a 


184 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


while with two or three of them at a street corner. Let the human 
mind try to imagine one of our superciliohs young gentlemen (not 
drunk) behaving in a manner so derogatory to the character of a 
British officer. 

I have learned at Bermuda, and without surprise, that soldiers 
often intentionally exchange from the military service into the 
“ convict-service.” That is to say, they desert, knowing that if taken 
they will be transported, and deliberately preferring the life of a 
convict to the hard duty and debased position of a soldier. Once 
while I was in Bermuda, a ship came in from Halifax, bringing 
twenty-two deserters to the hulks; and it is remarkable that their 
regiment had been quartered in Bermuda two years before ; therefore 
they had an opportunity of observing the queen’s convict service, 
and disliked garrison duty in comparison. I saw these men as they 
were brought into the Dromedary hulk and ranged on deck ;—they 
seemed in excellent spirits. Further, I learn that deserted soldiers 
make nearly a fifth part of the whole number of prisoners in the 
colony; and that on board this Neptune, are some twenty deserters 
or more. What wonder ? Self-respect is dead already within these 
men, or rather machines—felony can bring them no lower. A soldier, 
to be sure, is told that it is an honor to belong to the glorious and 
inmortal British service, and that hard as the life is, it is not de¬ 
grading like the convict service—he is told so ; but he feels his de¬ 
gradation,—or else is so utterly degraded that he feels it not: he 
knows that he is liable to be flogged like a slave or a beast of burden, 
—and what can they do to a convict more ? In the haughty bearing 
of his superiors, he is made to feel that the gulf separating him from 
the respectable classes is just as wide and impassable as felony could 
make it. He has no franchise, no citizenship, no home, any more 
than a convict. Then he knows that a convict has an easier life, as 
good and abundant food, fewer masters over him, is not strangled 
with belts and knapsack, nor choked with pipe-clay,—has generally 
a shorter time to serve, and the prospect of a favorable settlement in 
some fertile colony at last. 

Whether these are the considerations that commonly induce soldiers 
to make this exchange, or not, I am told that in practice transported 
deserters speak of themselves as “ promoted from the ranks, namely, 
to the gangs. 

2®* In the Irish Army there shall be no scourging. Deserters for 
first offence, shall be imprisoned, for second, shot. Note further, 


NIGHT IN THE SOUTH SEA. 


185 


there shall be no ■pipe-day. Men shall not be kept in perpetual 
clouds of white dust, laboring to conceal the dirt of their accoutre¬ 
ments with coats of still dirtier dirt. 

I have now sufficiently vilipended two branches of the United 
Service—the convict and the military :—the naval must be kept for 
another occasion. May God look down upon us all, soldiers and 
convicts, officers and turnkeys,—and especially the unhappy statesmen 
who are expected to order all these matters aright (without an idea 
of order in their heads, or a ray of truth in their souls)—and more 
especially me, lonely sea-faring patriot and martyr, who am thus 
austerely animadverting upon mankind, as we tear through the heavy 
seas under close-reefed top-sails about four hundred leagues from 
land. It is deep in the night. The wind roars wildly, and the waning 
moon shines in upon me with pale face through the shrouds. So I go 
upon deck to see the grim white moonshine on the tossing manes of 
ten thousand breaking billows. A yellow summer moon streaming 
soft through the whispering tops of bowery trees upon velvet-swarded 
glades, is one thing—and this grim white moon careering through 
torn and rifted clouds, on a stormy night at sea, is quite another thing 
—though Euler’s calculations, I believe, are said to be applicable to 
both. After all, the winter moon of these southern oceans is no other 
than the very harvest moon of Ireland, shining calmly into the room 
where my children are sleeping this blessed night. lor we are noi- 
far from the meridian of Newry, though six thousand miles to the 
south ; and I know that this white disk struggling here through 
antarctic storm-clouds is the very globe of silver that hangs to-night 
between the branches of the laurels in Dromalane. A thought, this, 
compiled from somebody : I only know it does not belong originally 
to me. It was once Jean Paul Richter’s, no doubt; but is not Jean 
Paul dead ? And has he not bequeathed this and all his other assets 
and effects to you and to me ? 

_We are still clearing more than two hundred miles a day, 

and that point-blank towards the Cape. Some god with his broad 
hand is urging our keel below; either that or else this snoring north 
west wind is doing it. We shall certainly make the coast of Africa 
within a week if we hold on our way : everybody on board seems 
more alive, as if awaking from a long doze. There is one woman in 
the ship, the wife of a sergeant who is coming out as guard to the 
convicts. By great luck she is an Irishwoman, of the county Clare. 
By good luck, because for twelve months and more I have heard no 



186 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


other human accents than the loathsome twang of vulgar English— 
which is just hardly human. When Mrs. Nolan, therefore, comes up 
to the poop for a little fresh air, I always go and talk with her 
awhile, merely that I may fill my ears with the liquid music that 
distils from a kindly Munster tongue. It is well she is so old (say 
half a century), else I should fall in love with Mrs. Nolan. 

There are nearly two hundred Irish amongst these prisoners—the 
famine-struck Irish of the Special Commission ; many who have not 
a word of English, and most of them so shattered in constitution by 
mere hunger and hardship, that all the deaths amongst the prisoners 
ever since we embarked have been Irish. As I am far removed, 
however, from their part of the ship, I seldom hear their voices, 
except when they sing at night on deck. And such singing is mourn¬ 
ful beyond all caoines, coronachs, and ncenice. What a fate—what 
a dreary doom has been spun and woven for you, my countrymen !— 
They were born, these men, to a heritage of unquenched hunger, 
amidst the teeming plenty of their mother-land—hunted like noxious 
beasts from all shelter on her hospitable bosom—driven to stay their 
gnawing enemy with what certain respectable fed men call their 
“ property. 37 And so now they are traversing the deep under 
bayonet-points, to be shot out like rubbish on a bare foreign strand, 
and told to seek their fortune there amongst a people whose very 
language they know not. Many of them, I believe, being without 
families, are glad of this escape, as they might be glad of any escape 
from the circle of hunters that chased them for life at home. But 
then there are many others, boys from twelve to seventeen years of 
age, and some of them very handsome boys, with fine open counte¬ 
nances, and a laugh so clear and ringing—whom it is a real pain to 
look upon. They hardly know what troops of fell foes, with quivers 
full of arrows, are hunting for their young souls and bodies ; they 
hardly know, and—so much the more pity for them—hardly feel it: 
but in poor frail huts on many an Irish hill-side, their fathers and 
mothers dwell with poverty, and labor, and sorrow, and mourn for 
their lost children with a mourning that will know no comfort till 
they are gathered to their people in the chapel-yard. For indeed 
these convict boys were not born of the rock or the oak tree—human 
mothers bore them, sang them asleep in lowly cradles, wept and 
prayed for them. But Ireland was under the amelioration of British 
statesmen in those days, getting her resources developed by them ; 
and so the sons of those woful Irish mothers were rocked and suckled 


DISMAL SONGS. 


187 


for the British hulks, to be ameliorated amongst London burglars, 
and reformed by the swell-mob, that they might help to carry British 
civilization to distant continents and isles. 

Thoughts like these often come upon me when I hear at night, 
rising from the ship’s forecastle, some Irish air that carries me back 
to old days when I heard the same to the humming accompaniment 
of the spinning-wheel ; and then I curse, oh! how fervently, the 
British empire. Empire of hell! when will thy cup of abominations 
be full ? But I always check myself in this cursing; for there is 
small comfort in unpacking the full heart with indignant words. In¬ 
dignant thoughts must be stifled and hushed to rest for the time. 
“ These things must not be thought after these ways. So, it. will 
make us mad.” 

Sept. 1 5th .—A poor wretch who has been dying for months died out 
right to-day: an Irishman, by name Brophy. He is the seventh 
prisoner (exclusive of one sailor and one soldier) who has died since 
we left Bermuda. 

Sept. 17th .—Within one hundred miles of the Cape: and a steady 
breeze is sending us along at eight knots an hour : we must make land 
to-morrow morning. 

So this five months’ voyage is as good as over. It has been, every 
one says, very long and wearisome ; yet to me it has been neither. 
But now that land is near, with new scenes and cities of articulate¬ 
speaking men, I must rouse myself from my blue-water dreaming, 
and gird up my loins to meet whatsoever new thing Africa may 
bring forth. Ghosts, avaunt! 

Sept. 18th .—Before sunrise this morning I was awaked by three 
cheers from the forecastle. I knew Table Mountain must be in sight ; 
so I jumped out of bed and went on deck. There, right ahead of us, 
the curtain of mist was lazily furling itself up from a rough moun¬ 
tainous coast not two miles from the ship : we could see the shaggy 
copsewood fringing the rocks, and close upon the beach two or three 
low houses. We could hear the surf as the long swell broke heavily 
upon the sand.—It is substantial Africa. 

But can this be the Cape of Storms ? After flying along for a 
fortnight under a strong gale that never failed us a single hour, we 
find ourselves here, off the terrible Cape, where we counted on having 
to fight our way into port through hurricanes ingruent from all points 
of heaven, lying motionless on the -water, with sails flapping against 
the masts in a breathless calm. And well for us that it is so ; for we 


188 


JAIL JOTJKNAL. 


came close into the shore during the night about four miles too far 
north : that is to say we have the Cape of Good Hope still to double 
before we can make the entrance of False Bay : that is to say, we 
have missed the very thing to make sure of which vessels bound for 
the Cape always sail two thousand miles to the westward of their 
direct course. And the wind almost constantly prevailing on this 
coast is the south east, with a strong current setting in the same di¬ 
rection : and so, if a wind stir to-day and do not run us ashore (where 
we must certainly go to pieces) it will drive us far to the north west; 
and after being within four miles of our port we may have three 
weeks’ navigation yet before we come within actual reach of it. So 
say sea-going men.—But luck may favor us. 

About noon, the mountains were all clear ; and there, sure enough, 
is the unmistakable platform of Table Mountain predominating over 
them all. Where we lie here we see no land but the rugged peninsula 
which divides Table Bay from False Bay, the outer coast of which 
seems to extend about thirty miles. The northern part of this penin¬ 
sula is a magnificent mass of mountains ; and straight opposite to 
where we are now drifting, the mass is cloven through by a narrow 
inlet called Hout’s Bay, where the cliffs seem to rise sheer out of 
deep water at an angle that would make the footing of a goat unsure : 
—yet in that very inlet, as I hear, round the skirts of those grim 
rocks, are some of the best vineyards in the colony. I thirst for the 
juice of these African grapes, and refuse my accustomed brandy 
to-day, out of disgust. 

Mrs. Nolan, the sergeant’s wife, who had thought, I believe, that the 
captain had missed his way and sailed into unknown seas beyond the 
world’s end, is in great though quiet delight. She says Table Moun¬ 
tain is for all the world like Callan (a mountain in Clare)—and has 
been thanking God all day in a low voice. 

Caught some capital fish, and dined luxuriously, getting drunk 
afterwards on imaginary Constantia of the choicest vintage. 

Saw in the afternoon a phenomenon symptomatic of the end of a 
convict voyage, viz., a wonderfully worn pack of cards floating along¬ 
side, very brown, and with corners all rounded off. They had been 
thrown overboard : This day their long service is at an end ; and if 
one could ascertain how much money has been lost and won by their 
means, within these five months, it would be a curious statistic to lay 
“ before Parliament.” Some of our worthies, too, who have been 
till now wearing prison apparel, of fustian or corduroy, have been 


A.FRIOA BE WARE! 


189 


taking out of the fold to-day, and trying on, an astonishing quantity 
of new and very good clothes, which they had provided at Bermuda, 
with a view of entering on their campaign respectably at the Cape. 
In fact, there are some very gentlemanly London thieves and swind¬ 
lers here : several of them have better coats and hats than I have ; 
so that I will not be the most “ respectable ” convict landed at the 
Cape. Now, then, worthy householders of Africa, look to your door- 
bolts and locks ; hardware of that sort will rise in price hereabouts 
before six months are out. Gentlemen of Africa ! take care of your 
pockets.—Assuredly it is a gross outrage upon any community what¬ 
soever to discharge amongst them such a cargo of iniquity as we 
carry. But if the colonists, as I hear, be content to receive the con¬ 
signment, why let them make their profit of it as best they can. 

Sept. 19 th. —Hurrah! Hurrah ! Africa has brought forth a new 
thing—a right noble birth this time—and from the bottom of my 
heart I wish her joy. 


190 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Ferment at the Cape—British Governor under Duress—“ Anti-Convict Association ” 
—News of O’Brien and the “Traitors ’’—Neptune at Anchor—Simon’s Bay—Cape 
Heaths and Geranium—Anti-Convict Council of War—Simultaneous Meetings— 
Note from the Governor—Anti-Convict Pledge—Starvation—Dr. Dees falls Sick 
—Excitement increases—Cape Newspapers—The Bandieten —The 18th of August 
in Zwartland—The Boers—Starvation—Fishing to. support Existence—Non-inter¬ 
course—Steward of the Neptune —Our Skipper ashore—People will hold no Inter¬ 
course—Indignation of the Men-of-war’s Mene—Commodore rides on a Foray. 

Sept. 9th, 1849.—-On board the Neptune. Simon’s Bay, Cape of 
Good Hope. Last night I wrote down my congratulations to Africa, 
and drank her health with enthusiasm. 

The case is this—The colonists here are not content, and never 
were content, that their country should be made a penal settlement. 
The assumption that they were so was a lying pretence of the Cartha¬ 
ginian newspapers, and a fraud of Earl Grey, the Colonial minister. 
This “ statesman,” had publicly declared, two years ago, that no 
colony, not heretofore a penal one, should be made a receptacle for 
convicts without its own consent; on which promise the colonists 
here, like simple fools, had been relying ; but this statesman after¬ 
wards, by the clandestine method of an “Order in Council,” just 
made the Cape a penal colony, and let the honest inhabitants know 
of it after he had settled everything and chartered a ship to carry the 
first oargo of felony to their shores. So, during the whole of our five 
months’ voyage, a most vehement excitement has been growing and 
spreading over all South Africa.—The people have forced the Legis¬ 
lative Council to dissolve itself;—the governor, Sir Harry Smith, 
was compelled a month ago, to promise that when the Neptune should 
arrive, he would not suffer one convict to land; and the colonists 
themselves, tradesmen, merchants, butchers, bakers, inn-keepers and 
all, have combined to a man, in an universal “ Anti-Convict Associ - 
ation ,” vowing that they will neither employ any convict, sell any 

\. 


ANTI-CONVICT ASSOCIATION. 


191 


thing to any convict, give a convict a place to lay his head, or deal 
with, countenance, or speak to, any traitor who may so comfort or 
abet a convict, from the governor down to the black coolies and 
boatmen. As we were so long at sea, the excitement and effective 
organization had time to grow strong—newspapers, public meetings, 
pulpits, had been loud and furious ; and so, when we, all unconscious, 
sailed up False Bay to-day, the Cape was fully ready for us. Before 
we made the harbor of Simon’s Bay (which is a small basin inside 
False Bay, about twenty miles from Capetown), the “Neptune ” was 
known by her signals, and a boat from the shore hailed us. It was 
the harbor-master of Simon’s Bay bringing Dr. Dees a note from the 
governor, ordering him to cast anchor in the bay, and neither to go 
ashore himself nor suffer any communication between the ship and 
the shore till farther orders. The same gentleman brought a bundle 
of Cape newspapers, that we might see the doings of the “Anti-Con¬ 
vict Association,” and how impossible it is for the cargo of felony to 
be unloaded here. Doctor Dees sends his dispatches to the governor. 

The harbor-master also handed me a letter from-; and a 

gentleman who came off with him, introduced himself to me as Dr. 
Stewart, “ health officer ” of the port; gave me some newspapers 
which he had brought for me, and told me, that so far as I am con¬ 
cerned there is no objection to my landing on the part of the people 
—that they understand quite well how I happen to be here, that 
none of this agitation “ of course,” has reference to me; and so forth 
—adding somewhat of an apologetic nature about the popular 
violence. I told him I was delighted to find the colonists so deter¬ 
mined to resist the abominable outrage attempted by “ Government,” 
—that they were completely in the right, and I hoped they would 
stand out to the last extremity—that as to myself, though every¬ 
body indeed knew I was no felon, yet I could not expect the people 
here to make distinctions in my favor : they were engaged in a 
great struggle, involving the very existence of their society, and 
could not afford to attend to particular exceptions. He seemed 
surprised at my warmth 5 but I was willing to let the first Cape-man 
who spoke to me, know what I think of the business. 

The harbor-master informs me that every one at the Cape, 
knowing we had left Bermuda five months ago, had concluded that 
the ship must have gone down with all hands, and that so the Colony 
would be saved the struggle it has been preparing for. In fact, 
several clergymen have been praying to God in their pulpits, to 




192 


JAIL JOURNAL, 


avert the infliction, and, complacently remarking in their sermons, 
upon the presumed loss of the Neptune with every soul on board, as 
one of the most special Providences yet recorded. The same harbor¬ 
master tells me that about a week since, the “Swift,” a man-of-war 
brig, touched here and took in provisions, on her way to Sydney, 
having on board O’Brien, Meagher, O’Donoghue and MacManus— 
that he was the only person who saw them, and that the “ Swift ” 
remained but one day and part of the next. 

Martin and O’Dogherty were not on board: they, I presume, 
w'ere stowed away in a common convict-ship. Being proprietors of 
newspapers, the “ Government ” wish to visit them with the utter¬ 
most disgrace of felony. This is because an honest man, armed with 
a newspaper, is the most dangerous enemy the persons called 
Government can have in Ireland at present 5 therefore, they do us 
the honor to dishonor us as far as they are able. 

It was nearly dark when we got into the land-locked basin called 
Simon’s bay : it seems to be surrounded by steep gloomy mountains; 
about a dozen large ships are in the bay ; and the lights of the town 
appear within a quarter of a mile,—a quarter of a mile, yet as far off 
as the Aurora Borealis : for it seems pretty certain that I shall 
never set foot upon African ground. 

This is assuredly, in one point of view, a great disappointment to 
me : no man can guess what our ultimate destination may be : pro¬ 
bably Australia; and of Australia I have ever felt the utmost 
abhorrence. It was always a matter of wonder to me, that free 
emigrants wdth their families—people who might go if they liked, to 
Dahomey or Whidah, or Nova Zembla, or Tierra del Fuego, went 
voluntarily to settle in a penal colony, and adopt it for their 
country. To live among natural unsophisticated savages, though it 
were in Labrador or the Sahara, would be tolerable; but to dwell 
and rear one’s children amongst savages who are outcasts of civil¬ 
ization, savages rfe-civilizcd—savages uniting more than the brutality 
of Timbuctoo w r ith all the loathsome corruptions of London, is a 
nauseous and horrid idea. Yet I have inured myself to a wonderful 
indifference; and actually feel small concern about the whole 
matter. I am right well content that I so peremptorily forbade my 
own people to come out to the Cape to meet me for the present; and 
so long as it is but myself I have to care for, and my health stands 
firm, I find that I reck but little to what point of the compass this 
ominous ship shall next direct her bowsprit.—Most strangely I feel 


“neptune” at anchor. 


193 


this night a sort of joyful sensation,—a pleasing sub-excitement—a 
warm glow in the region of the proecordia, that makes my blood to 
tingle. IVe have just fallen in here upon a very pleasant con¬ 
juncture in British colonial affairs 5 and if matters be indeed as I 
divine they are, we are going to see a handsome piece of work. 

Plainly, the Governor of the Cape cannot take it upon him to send 
the ship away—certainly not to another colony—without orders 
from Carthage ; and we may lie here in a kind ot moral quarantine 
for six months before any decisive order arrives, dhen there are 
many guesses, all equally probable, what that order will be. 
Whether we are to be forwarded to Australia, brought back to Ber¬ 
muda,—summoned to the Thames, forced in upon the Cape, or 
consigned to some unheard of country in the Pacific, or I know not 
where. 

It is certain that the men in Downing street will, with a very bad 
grace, yield to the Cape demands 1 I think they can hardly make up 
their minds to do it at all:—the first impulse ot Englishmen, in such 
cases, is always to bully. Yet it they force this matter it will be 
worse for the poor prisoners themselves, who are like to be dealt 
with on the footing of wolves or Caffirs. About the whole affair 
there is an utter and glorious uncertainty. Ike people, I tiust, are 
in no uncertainty about their course of procedure. 

The convicts do not yet know how the land lies 5 and aic still 
making sure of going ashore to-morrow. But the “ authorities ol 
the shFp are looking blank at the thought of being imprisoned here, 
they know not how long. As for Dr. Dees, he is in pitiable conster¬ 
nation. The anxieties of his long voyage, and this unlooked-for 
reception, operating on a weak constitution and nervous tempera¬ 
ment, threaten to make an invalid of him. He expected to meet heie 
his brother, who is surgeon in Admiral Reynolds's ship ; but just three 
days before we arrived the admiral was replaced by a commodoie, 
and his ship sailed for Plate River. On the whole, the poor creature 
seems quite distracted to-night, and can hardly speak without weep¬ 
ing ; to think that he, a British officer, executing the orders of his 
sovereign, should be regarded, on his arrival at a British colony, as 
if he were the captain of a Malay pirate-ship! So we all have our 
own peculiar grievances. 

Down plunges the Neptune’s bower anchor, with its rattling chain 
cable, making the old ship quiver. Where next then—in Moreton 
Bay or Port Philip, at the Falkland Isles, at Blackwall, or once 

9 


194 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


more under the Bermuda cedar boscages—will that anchor makes its 
next plunge ? Gentlemen ot Downing street! here is a little matter 
for you to adjust—with your red tape, or other appliances. I have 
nothing to do with it; the onus is upon you therefore, I will 
quietly take a smoke, and wish you a difficult deliverance. 

So we cast anchor and wish for the day. 

20th .—The sun rose to-day, quite as usual, without any apparent 
anxiety upon his countenance ; “ all unconcerned with our unrest,” 
and showed us where our ship is riding. Simon’s Bay is a cove, or 
recess, on the w r est side of the great False Bay, inclosed by rugged 
hills, from 800 to 1,400 feet in height; and the town, with its dock¬ 
yard buildings, is built round the head of the bay, on the steep face 
of the hill, like a small Genoa. At one end of the towm a deep 
ravine brings down a stream from the mountains, and close to its 
mouth stand a few trees. Several handsome houses, hotels, a good 
many shops, a church, a small barrack, a range of navy store-houses, 
make up the whole town ; and three or four gardens have been made 
to climb up the abrupt acclivity behind, though for some of them the 
soil must have been carried up, not in carts, but in hods. There is 
about as much pasture near the water’s edge as might feed three 
coivs. The trees are now in full leaf, and the grass, and the gardens 
and the heath upon the mountains, are all green as emerald. The 
hills are everyw r here tufted wuth low copse, the aborescent heaths of 
the Cape, and in some places are purple already w T ith the wild gera¬ 
niums, that make a South African wilderness to blossom like the 
rose. To the north, rising over all the rest, peeps one shoulder of 
Table Mountain, and on the eastern side of False Bay (about fifteen 
miles off) is a vast range of high aud shaggy mountains, with splin¬ 
tered peaks and naked precipices. Along the head of False Bay 
lies a level tract of sandy-looking land ; and beyond tliat, ridge 
rising over ridge, the far-off mountains of the interior, some of them 
with snow yet lying on their rugged and fantastic summits. 

Simon’s Town is in evident excitement to-day; there is a public 
meeting, attended by a good many Capetown members of the “Anti- 
Convict Association,” who instantly posted down to hold a solemn 
council of war in full view of the enemy. In Capetown itself, a 
great gong they have in the Towm-hall wms made to sound in fune¬ 
real wise (one beat in every half-minute) by order of the municipal 
authorities of the city ; and this dismal tolling is to go on, day and 
night, wffiile the Neptune remains within the limits of the colony. 


A 


ANTI-CONVICT PLEDGE. 


195 


Simultaneous meetings arc in all districts ; orators roaring, and cler¬ 
gymen cursing, louder than ever. The entire community seems to 
have but one thought, one purpose :—the colony is bristling itself up 
into one resolute, strong-bristling porcupine to repel the touch of 
this felonious gang. More power ! 

We shall not hear to-day the decrees of the anti-convicts ; but 
every one tells us there is absolute unanimity ; so that I can guess 
there will be but little moderation. 

Dr. Dees has received, this evening, a note from the governor ac¬ 
knowledging the receipt of the dispatches, but intimating that he 
does not intend, for all the dispatches, to relieve the doctor of his 
charge—nor to allow any one on board the Neptune to come ashore . 
that the doctor is therefore to consider himself under the orders of 
the commodore,—who has his frigate lying at anchor beside us, and 
has supreme command over everything that is afloat in these waters :— 
and wait for farther dispatches from England. 

21s£.—Everything goes on favorably. The meeting yesterday re¬ 
solved on applying the anti-convict “ pledge ” rigorously. The 
pledge is against selling anything to anybody on board the Neptune, 
or to anybody who will so deal, or to any one who will assist any 
convicted felon to land, or enable him to live when landed—or to tho 
government, or anybody for the government, so long as the Neptune 
remains even afloat within the waters of the colony. All the Simons- 
town shopkeepers were made to sign this pledge on the spot, though 
sore against their will; for this little town depends wholly on the 
dock-yard and the custom of mcn-of-war’s men. Watch has been set 
on shore (men with telescopes, called Committee of Vigilance) to 
keep a constant eye upon the Neptune and the boats to and fro—also, 
on the Simonstown shopkeepers, who need watching too. They are 
bent upon starving us—after our five months’ voyage. The com¬ 
modore, indeed, yesterday sent us fresh beef for all hands, but a mes¬ 
sage with it that he could not hope to supply us for more than a day 
or two, as, if found out, he would get no more beef for himself and 
his crew. Indeed, he “ threw in ” this supply by stratagem, as they 
do for blockaded towns,—ordering two days’ beef at once for his 
own ship, then slipping half of it over his deck into a boat on the 
side furthest from the town, and so to the Neptune. 

The road to Capetown lies close along the beach, winding round 
the base of the mountains, being, in fact, the sea-sand moistened and 
hardened by the tide. Along this road there is now a continual post- 


196 


JAIL JO UENAL. 


ing, riding and running. Two or three military persons, one being 
Quartermaster-General, and two medical officers, came on board the 
“ Neptune ” to-day, sent by the governor, to inspect. After they had 
examined the forepart of the ship, the state of the sick, and so forth, 
Dr. Dees came to me, saying the inspecting-officers wished to see me. 
Just as I was answering their questions about my health, Dr. Dees, 
who stood close by me, suddenly fell down, moaning and writhing in 
a frightful manner. I thought it was a fit of epilepsy'*, but six hours 
have gone by, and he has never come to his senses, nor ceased from 
convulsive movements of the limbs. I fear the poor fellow will die. 
Lord Grey’s colonial experiment has destroyed him at any rate. 

The excitement on shore seems to increase every hour. A cart of 
bread, on its way from Capetown for the supply of the navy, was 
stopped by a mob outside that town ; and the governor was obliged 
to send with it an escort of troops. 

I have got Cape newspapers for the last two months, and have 
been reading the proceedings of the various anti-convict associations 
within that time. In the remote parts of the colony the indignation 
and firm resolution of resistance are, if possible, more powerful and 
universal than even at Capetown. The Dutch inhabitants, who are 
three to one, are more desperately enraged than the English, and 
seem perfectly willing to resist by arms ; indeed they are so thoroughly 
disaffected to the British government that they desire nothing better 
than a fair pretext for a quarrel. Both races, however, are unani¬ 
mous upon this: the “pledge” has been adopted at all meetings; 
and nobody who travels through the country is to get provisions or 
lodgings for his money, or pasture for his bullocks, without producing 
a certificate in Dutch and English, from the Anti-Convict Association 
of his own district, that he is a pledged man—the pledge itself being 
printed in both languages on the back of the certificate. In some 
regions exclusively Dutch, the farmers flocked to the meetings from 
a distance of forty or fifty miles across mountains and Karroos , as 
they call the barren deserts of this country :—“ These simple people,” 
says the newspaper, “ did not know what a convict was,—had never 
heard of Earl Grey, or a Colonial office, or Downing street,”—but 
when the matter was explained to them, how that a shipload of con¬ 
victed criminals, Bandieten, from England and Ireland were sent by 
Graaf Grey to be let loose upon their country, and when the ora¬ 
tors enlarged upon the circumstances and way of living of these 
colonists, dwelling on lonely farms, the men often from home foi 


18 tii of august in zwartland. 


197 


weeks together,—often traversing unfrequented plains and mountain 
passes with their bullock wagons as they carry their produce to the 
seaports,—and when they reminded them that heretofore they have 
never needed lock or bar by day or night, nor felt a moment’s un¬ 
easiness when absent from their families,—and then pictured the 
horrors of this bandit invasion, and told them terrific stories of the 
atrocities of Australian bush-rangers, until their imaginations were 
excited to the utmost, and they thought of Lord Grey’s “ exiles ” as 
of a band of preternatural desperadoes, coming with an express mis¬ 
sion to rob, ravish, burn, and murder ,—Bonner en blitzen! the 
worthy farmers, in hot Dutch wrath, not only adopted the pledge by 
acclamation, and signed it on the spot, but swore, gutturally, lifting 
their hands to heaven, that they never would submit to this wrong, 
would renounce their allegiance rather, and take up their rifles to 
repel the felon invasion with more hearty goodwill than ever they 
had marched against Caffirs. And the stout boers are like to be as 
good as their word : I trust they are one would gladly fall in 
upon some corner of the world where men who threaten loud ha^ e 
some notion of putting their threats into execution. 

It is to be remarked that the Dutch farmers here are all well-armed, 
all practised shots,—never heard of a “ disarming act,” and having 
been at various times organised in militia corps against the Caffirs, 
have some touch of military discipline, and a wholesome taste for 
powder and ball. Nobody ever explained to them that they herein 
commit a crime, and that he who commits a crime gives strength to 
the enemy. 

In many districts, after the public meetings, they went straight to 
their places of worship, heard an Anti-Convict sermon, and prayed 
that the judgments which threaten the land might be averted. After 
describing one meeting of this sort, the newspaper bieaks foith 
i: And thus ended the 18th of August. May it long be remembered in 
Zwartland. May fathers at their rising up and at their lying down, 
Ac. &c.” Indeed, I have not seen more heroic phraseology anywhere, 
not even in the Nation, than these newspapers supply. They uni¬ 
formly denounce the whole scheme as a deliberate fraud of Earl Grey, 
(which it is), and charge him with direct lying throughout.—They say 
if the high-wrought civilization of Carthage breed such a mass of crime, 
Carthage ought to deal with her criminals herself, and not turn colonies 
which were established and peopled with quite other views and other 
hopes, into sinks or common sewers of felonythey say the Cape, liko 


198 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


every other community, has its own delinquents to keep in order, and 
can neither afford to take charge of imported scoundrelism, nor bear 
to inoculate its society with fresh varieties of villainy :—and surely in 
all this they say only what is right and reasonable. The Carthaginian 
government claim to be entitled to palm some of their convict ras¬ 
cality upon the Cape, because they supplied troops to save the Cape 
from Caffirs—but, say these newspapers, you did this to upold Car¬ 
thaginian supremacy in Southern Africa, not to protect our house¬ 
holds ;—and though it were not so, still we say, Take your troops, 
take your ships : we will defend ourselves from the Caffirs ; at the 
very worst we prefer Caffirs to convicts. 

Was there ever, since the beginning of the world, a juster cause 
than these colonists have now, to stir their blood ? 

Cut the agitation by no means confines itself now to the anti-convict 
question. On every side a cry is rising for a representative govern¬ 
ment, with control over supplies ;—they will be ruled no longer by 
red-tape puppies in Downing street, and a Carthaginian legislative 
council at the Cape.—Here is a resolution passed at a meeting in 
Worcester district, on the 11th August—(Mr. Petrus Jacobus de Yos, 
in the chair). “ That the system by which the colony is at present 
governed is arbitrary and unjust in its nature, and that a more liberal 
system of government ought to substituted.—Further, that the 
present legislature has become unadapted to the wants of the colony, 
and ought to be superseded by a representative constitution.”—Some 
similar resolution is now passed at every meeting. 

In the meantime the “ government ” here is completely paralyzed : 
the members of the legislative council have resigned : the executive 
council never meets : and the colony is virtually without any govern¬ 
ment at all. The people are quietly but effectually taking all affairs 
into their own hands: all the banks and insurance offices have given 
notice that they will have no dealings with anybody who is no 
pledged, or who may supply the government in any manner, until 
after the Order in Council, making the Cape a penal colony, shall 
have been cancelled : and Sir Harry Smith, to “ re-establish confi¬ 
dence,” has taken a questionable step,—proclaimed that he is about to 
issue a government paper currency, to be advanced on such security 
as “ a board of officers ” shall approve, and to be exchangeable for 
taxes. 

All this I have culled out of the newspapers: the agitation seems 
to have gone forward with still increasing violence till the day the 


/] \ 


STAEVATION. 199 

Neptune sailed into port: and matters are now growing worse (or 
better) every day. 

22d .—No more fresh meat. The “ Committee of Vigilance ” found 
out the commodore’s manoeuvre, and now the people refuse to supply 
meat, or auything else, to the commodore himself or to any ship of 
the squadron,—or any branch of the naval department. There are 
four ships of war lying here, with about nine hundred men, and they 
are all reduced to salt rations as well as we. By good luck there is 
great abundance of excellent fish in this bay: and one of the frigate’s 
boats has just drawn a noble draught of them. So we are supplied 
with fresh fish for to-morrow. 

The Association at Capetown are now directing their whole ener¬ 
gies to one point, to coerce the governor, by absolute starvation of 
the public services, to send the Neptune at once, somewhere, any¬ 
where, out of the waters of the colony. They are applying the non- 
interccurse pledge in all its force. Contractors for the supply of all 
government departments have as one man declined to fulfil their 
contracts, preferring to forfeit the penalty in their bonds. Govern¬ 
ment has advertised for new tenders (by big painted placards, for no 
printer will print for a convict government)—not one tender sent in. 

Even at Simonstown the people are compelled to enforce the 
pledge. The Neptune’s steward went ashore to-day, by a circuitous 
route, going first to the Minerva, an East Indiaman lying near us, 
then to the shore in Minerva’s boat. He went to a butcher’s shop ; 
asked for mutton; the boy in attendance said he would sell him two 
pounds; steward said he wanted a leg of mutton ; boy did not know ; 
would call his master. The master came, and the steward pretended 
to fall into a violent passion. He was the steward, he said, of the 
Minerva ; and were his cabin passengers, ladies and gentlemen from 
Madras, to be starved because a cargo of damned rascally convicts 
were lying in the bay ? For all his passion, the butcher put him to a 
strict cross-examination, to make sure that he did not belong to the 
Neptune ; and eventually the steward carried off the leg of mutton. 

This is all, perhaps, a rather serious business, and likely to be more 
serious, to those whom it may concern 5 but there is much excellent 
amusement in it. I laugh over the newspapers till tears stand in my 
eyes. I laugh on the poop at every fresh piece of news that comes 
on board as the agitation develops itself; and sometimes I laugh for 
half an hour in my bed. 

24 th. _Nothing but fish to eat yet; but I hear the commodore has 


200 


J A I I- JOURNAL. 


resolved to ride on forays by night, and drive a creaght from the 
farms. The governor takes no notice of the Neptune now at all. 
The doctor still very ill, in a state of constant nervous excitement, 
with occasional violent paroxysms. 

2 5th. —There is a dismasted ship lying in the bay—the old frigate 
Seringapatam ; and to her one hundred and twenty of the prisoners 
were transferred yesterday evening, which must certainly give much 
more air and room to those who remain. Wo seem to be preparing 
to spend the sammer here. 

To-day the poor doctor was removed in one of the frigate’s boats, 
stretched upon his bed, to the naval hospital on shore. 1 believe he 
will never leave it. 

Our old skipper went ashore to-day, taking a brace of pistols with 
him. lie found the people very quietly disposed : only they would 
“ hold no intercourse ” with him—he walked into several shops, tried 
to buy a tobacco pipe, a glass for his watch, a fresh roll of bread, but 
in vain : they would hold no intercourse. He went into the house of 
a poor woman, who keeps a small bakery and confectionary shop, and 
who has Intherto lived by supplying the men-of-war with- fresh break¬ 
fast bread. She told him, with tears, that she was utterly ruined— 
that the farmers and millers had ceased sending flour or grain to 
Simonstown, that but one baker could now keep his oven hot, and 
was restricted to selling at each house what would feed its known 

'i 

inmates only. While they talked, the baker’s cart came up ; the cap¬ 
tain begged her, as she was buying for herself, to get two loaves 
more, and sell them to him ; but she protested, in the greatest agita¬ 
tion, that if she even asked for such a thing, she would get no more 
bread for herself. He came on board again, declaring he had never 
met with such fools in his life 5 our skipper belongs apparently to 
that numerous class of persons who cannot understand how sane men, 
Britons too, professing Christianity, and living in the nineteenth cen¬ 
tury, can bring themselves, on mere public grounds, to refuse to turn 
a penny. He is an old East India captain, and knows a sure way, he 
tells me, to bring these people to reason—namely, to give, “ three 
dozen all round ” to the colonists, and a double allowance to the 
clergy. 

26th. —The commodore has driven a prey of bullocks ; he sent out 
a boat’s crew last night; and before morning they drove into Simons¬ 
town a herd of cattle 5 a fife and drum headed the procession, play¬ 
ing one of the jolly airs to which seamen are accustomed to “ walk 


COMMITTEE OF VIGILANCE. 


201 


away ” when they raise a topgallant-mast. The “ Committee of Vigi¬ 
lance ” keeping vigil all night upon a balcony were astounded. The 
commodore, of course, pays for the eattle. and herein differs from a 
stark moss-trooper. An officer who was on board to-day tells me the 
sailors of the frigate are growing highly excited against the rebel¬ 
lious colonists, and that the gunner’s mate being on shore yesterday 
evening, and hearing a man talking on the street about the infamous 
government design of sending convicts among them to corrupt their 
morals, and violate their daughters, came up to the indignant patriot, 
“ Ah ! damn your eyes ; you’re one of the blasted anti-convict lub¬ 
bers,” said he, and gave the man a blow between the eyes that felled 
him where he stood. 

/ , 

There is no relaxation of the blockade, however ; shopkeepers here 

will absolutely sell nothing to anybody belonging to the ships of war 
or the Neptune. Simonstown, indeed, must go to ruin, if the struggle 
last long, and the inhabitants are complaining bitterly; but public 
opinion is inexorable. 


I 


9* 


202 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ Committee of Vigilance ”—Business at a stand in Capetown—The Moderates and 
Immoderates'—Dr. Dees dead—A Rebel Bishop—Violent Ferment in the Interior— 
Advantage of inhabiting a Sphseroid—Rage of the Colonists—Resolution to shut 
Shops—Mr. Ebden—Fairbairn, able Editor—Mynheer Smuts—Chances of a Revolt 
—Cape Wines—Traitors Excommunicated—Benjamin Norden—Captain Stanford 
feeds Sir Harry—The Neptune “ Instructor ” would a-shopping go—No Inter¬ 
course—Solemn Fast—Secretary Montague—The Coolies grow Hungry—Mobs 
—Suggestion for Sir Harry—Wives or reputed Wives. 

27 th Sept.—On board the JYeptune, Simon’s Bay. —The Captaiu 
went up yesterday to Capetown, and returned this evening, bringing 
me three long letters from home, the reading whereof drove clear 
out of my head, for an hour or two, convicts and anti-convicts, the 
Cape, the commodore, the governor and all. 

The captain came from Capetown in an omnibus, which contained 
two gentlemen coming down to relieve the “ Committee of Vigi¬ 
lance ” on the balcony, and take their turn with the telescopes. They 
did not know who their fellow-traveller was, and their talk was all 
of the Neptune and the felons. When he told them he had been at 
Simonstown, and had seen the ship, they urged him with questions— 
had he seen me, J. Mitchel ?—had he heard that I had declared the 
colonists were right, and ought to persevere? Was it true that I 
walked about on the poop, where the captain walks? &c. He told 
them that was true enough, as any one might see from the street at 
Simonstown. 

He describes the excitement at Capetown as being extremely vio¬ 
lent : business is nearly at a stand, and many hundreds of persons 
arc thrown out of work. Some families are preparing to wind up 
business, selling their property, and declaring they will fly the 
country. New buildings are stopped ; debts called in : every one 
thinks that howsoever this affair end, it will go near to destroy the 
colony. An impression prevails that the emigrants who have been 


REBEL BISnOP. 


203 


assisted to come here for years past by Government funds were in 
fact some of Lord Grey’s convicts in disguise ; and the farmers who 
had hired them as servants and laborers are now dismissing them 
ignominiously. These poor creatures, of course, flock into Capetown, 
and add to the ingredients of turbulence that are now fermenting 
there. Capetown is a city somewhat larger than Kilkenny, peopled 
by three or four distinct races, English, Dutch (constituting the 
ruling caste), Malays, Hottentots, and a very large number who are 
half Dutch aud half of the ferocious Malay breed ; these are the 
artisans, boatmen, coolies, servants and the like. Here are materials 
for plenty of rough work. 

The Anti-Convicts are now divided into two parties ; one, the 
“ moderates,” being willing to let the Government, the Army and 
Navy, and even the Neptune, be supplied with provisions until the 
decisive dispatch arrive from England, but then (if the dispatch be 
unfavorable) to enforce the “ pledge,” and use every means of resist¬ 
ance—the other, the immoderates (and only genuine anti-convicts), 
insisting on the governor, and all his satellites, being instantly 
excommunicated, unless he sends the Neptune to sea at once, waiting 
for no dispatches. These are the great majority. 

28th .—Poor Dees, whom the governor would not relieve, has been 
relieved by another authority. He is dead. 

20th .—Military guard changed to day: a party from the 73d regi¬ 
ment has come on board, under charge of a non-commissioned oflicer. 
Our two smoking officers have gone to smoke on shore. 

3 0th, Sunday .—The “ Bishop of Capetown,” by name Dr. Gray, 
came on board to-day and preached to the convicts on the main deck. 
I had the curiosity, whilst he preached, to walk near enough to hear 
how he addressed them. Mr. Stewart, the “instructor,” never says, 
my brethren, but always “ my men ;” which I suppose is the custom 
of convict chaplains: for though preachers say that we all have 
sinned, yet it would be truly monstrous if convicted sinners were 
allowed to think themselves brethren to a minister of the gospel. 
We all have sinned, indeed, theoretically ;—or rather it is the etiquette 
for us to say so, in our polite intercourse, as it were, with the Almighty. 
—To my surprise, however, the bishop called the poor convicts “ My 
dearly beloved brethren.” 

After service he inquired for me : the captain came for me, and as 
he, in the doctor’s absence, is my head jailor, I went with him into 
the after-cabin and was introduced to the reverend man. He is a 


204 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


young man for a bishop, but wears a highly orthodox shovel-hat, and 
a most peremptory silk apron girt round his loins. I found him a 
very agreeable person : he heartily approves of the anti-convict 
movement: told him I was glad to hear that,—that I also approved 
of it. He declared that if the colony were but a little stronger it 
would rise in arms at once upon this argument—to which I said 
bravo! This circumstance, however, he mentioned not explicitly as 
his own episcopal recommendation, but as the universal feeling of the 
people. We conversed for nearly half an hour, and I was sorry when 
he went away. 

Oct. 1st .—The people of Simonstown, I fear, can hold out no longer. 
Shopkeepers, it is said, have begun to fly from the place, and bills 
are appearing in the windows. Most of them, indeed, are opening 
their shops again, a very superficial examination being enough to 
satisfy the traders that all is right. Even in Capetown, though they 
still refuse all intercourse with government, or any of the departments 
as such, yet persons contrive to sell goods to almost any one as an 
individual. There are no tenders yet for new contracts, and the 
victor of Aliwal is in sad straits. 

In the country parts the excitement and irritation increase daily. 
The presence of this plague ship in their waters acts on the colony 
like some acrid irritant introduced into a living body—there is fever 
and pain till the peccant matter is got rid of:—the people really 
cannot bear this poisonous blister of felony: they get no rest at night, 
but are waylaid in dreams by atrocious convicts:—they are now 
actually urging and obsecrating the governor daily, to send the ship 
at least out of the bay and beyond the Cape horizon, with orders to 

cruise off this fearful coast until the expected dispatches arrive_ 

that is for three, four, or five months. This ho has announced he 
cannot legally do—the Attorney-General so advises him—for the 
Cape also has an Attorney-General:—whereupon the anti-convicts 
have laid a case before some dozen eminent lawyers, Dutch and 
English, who unanimously affirm that he can legally do it. And so 
the anti-convicts say he ought to do it, must do it, and if he will not 
do, it they will apply the pledge machinery to him in all its power- 
will absolutely refuse to let anything be purchased for his private 
use, even by individuals—they will cut off his gas, will turn off his 
water, will create on all sides a vacuum around (and inside of) the 
government and all official persons ; so that the thing, it is hoped, 
must collapse. Various mischievous rumors heighten the perturba- 


205 


FERMENT IN T II E INTERIOR. 

tion. One day it was said, that a few of the most unspeakable felons 
had made their escape from the Neptune by swimming, and had 
straightway dispersed themselves over the country on their errand 
of plunder, blood and ravishment. 

In the meantime the governor has, they say, so far complied with 
the Association as to promise decidedly that if the final order of the 
Colonial office be to land the convicts , he will not be the instrument 
of inflicting so great an injury, but will resign. Therefore, we are 
likely to lie here the w r hole summer, till ^February or March next,— 
while his resignation goes to England, and a new governor comes 
out. 

What complicates the business greatly, and adds materially to the 
Downing street difficulty, is that the Australian colonies are also up 
in arms against the admission of any more British felony there. A 
ship that lately arrived at Sidney, roused an opposition nearly as 
strong as we see here now, but not so well organized ; for that 
governor at once landed the prisoners and shut the gates of Govern¬ 
ment house against a deputation coming to remonstrate. And there 
are two or three shiploads of convicts, including that which holds 
Martin and O’Doherty, now at sea on their way to N. S. Wales, or 
Van Diemen’s land—for on Britain’s convict-ships the sun never sets 
—and it is hard to guess whether these will be suffered to land their 
cargoes w r hen they arrive. If we should be sent forward, therefore, 
to any part of Australia, it would be only another experimental trip ; 
and the worthy colonists there also might bid us pass on. At worst 
we cannot go much farther from home : if my kidnappers make me 
sail any farther on that tack, I shall only be coming round upon them 
at the other side : which is one advantage of inhabiting a spherical 
body or spheroid, not heretofore noticed by the learned. 

Several persons have come to see me, either out of simple curiosity 
—having heard that there is a felon of a rather unusual sort to be 
seen here—or from a kinder motive. A young midshipman of the 
Castor frigate came on board the other day, introduced himself to 
me, and said he was an Irishman : so we had some talk thereupon. 
A Church-of-England clergyman, named Sandberg, by birth a 
German, being on his way from India, and making some stay at the 
Cape, has been several times on board, and has preached, he says, to 
the prisoners, between decks. He offers me the loan of books, and is 
otherwise polite and attentive. Also, several others, whom I forget. 

Oct. Ylth. _Our good colonists are growing frenetic. Rumor and 


206 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


rage, and “ preternatural suspicion,” are driving them mad. The 
last week seems to have been hurrying matters forward to some 
violent issue. Finding that the ship was not ordered away, nor 
likely to be, and that the published opinions of Dutch jurisconsults 
were disregarded, as well as the published harangues of the clergy 
and the published prayer adopted in the Jews’ synagogue,—and that 
both army, navy, government, yea, and the very convicts, were 
actually feasting on Cape beef and mutton, though at some incon¬ 
venience to the providers, and not without a display of force,— 
seeing all this, and imagining that all was lost if the ship were 
allowed to await Lord Grey’s decision, the Anti-Convicts convened 
a great open air monster meeting yesterday, and have solemnly 
resolved to shut all shops, and to deal with nobody but their known 
customers and pledged persons. They really hope to make it impos¬ 
sible for the governor to subsist the convicts, or even himself while 
he harbors the convicts. The resolution is printed, and posted every¬ 
where, by way of proclamation ; and one hour after it was promul¬ 
gated yesterday, every shop in Capetown was shut up. A courier 
was sent post to Simon’s Bay, with a copy of the new edict, and 
injunctions to enforce the observance of the pledge most rigorously 
from this day forth. Simonstown, therefore, is once more inaccess¬ 
ible. The unanimity with which all this business goes on is 
wonderful. Even the “ moderates,” though they deprecate such an 
extreme measure, say they will act with their countrymen. Nobody, 
in fact, dares to disobey the plebiscitum. Here it is— 

“ ANTI-CONVICT ASSOCIATION. 

“At a special meeting of the Association, held in the Town Hall 
this day, Thursday, 

J. J. L. Smuts, Esq., in the chair, 

Moved by J. Fairbairn, Esq., seconded by Thos. Sutherland, Esq., 

“ That in consequence of the bad faith of the Right Hon. the Earl 
Grey, and of his attempts to make this colony a penal settlement, 
against the wishes and in defiance of the petitions, remonstrances 
and protests of the inhabitants; and in consequence of the detention 
within the limits of the colony of the ship Neptune, with convicts on 
board, whose destination is the Cape of Good Hope, on the ground 
of a professional opinion given by her Majesty’s Attorney-General, 
as to the illegality of sending them away, which the whole of the 


RESOLUTION TO SHUT SHOPS. 


207 


other members of the bar have pronounced to be erroneous, society 
in this colony is rapidly falling into disorder, from one end of the 
country to the other, and the local government is fast becoming, by 
reason of this disorder and dissatisfaction, less and less capable of 
fulfilling the duties of a free government, and less and less capable 
of protecting the lives and property of the frontier and other 
inhabitants, should any troubles arise among the native tribes and 
people on the borders. 

“ Therefore it is the duty of all good and loyal subjects of her 
majesty, at once from this day to suspend all business transactions 
with the government, in any shape or upon any terms, until it is 
officially declared that the Neptune, with the convicts ou board, will 
go away as soon as all necessary supplies for her voyage can be put 
on board :—and that all intercourse and connection between private 
individuals and his excellency and heads of the victualling depart¬ 
ments shall be dropped from this day—the merchants, auctioneers, 
bakers, butchers, shopkeepers, and all other good and loyal people 
dealing only with such private individuals as they know and clearly 
understand to be unconnected with those departments by or through 
which supplies, sufficient to afford a pretext for the detention of the 
convicts, may possibly be obtained. 

“ And that, the measures already taken for this purpose being too 
slow for the urgency of the case, it is recommended that after this 
moment all shops and stores shall be closed as for a solemn fast, 
except for the accommodation of ordinary, private and well-known 
customers, that his excellency may no longer be in doubt as to the 
impossibility of detaining the Neptune, with her convicts, within 
the limits of this colony. 

“ Carried unanimously.” 

% 

Possibly, the wisdom of this last procedure may be questionable. 
Certainly, it is not to be thought of that the governor of a maritime 
colony, having plenty of ships and troops at his disposal, can be 
coerced by mere starvation to do what the popular will dictates. lie 
may be inconvenienced, and the troops may be made hostile to the 
country ; but all that will not make it “ impossible ” to retain the 
Neptune in Simon's bay for a few months, or even years. Here she 
will assuredly stay, notwithstanding what they call the urgency of 
the case, till the English dispatch comes in : therefore it may be that 
the course proposed by the “ moderates ” is the wiser course, to let 


208 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


matters go on quietly, in the meantime (content that felony is kept 
afloat) reserving extreme measures of resistance to meet the actual 
atrocity of landing the cargo, if this should be attempted. 

I have a strong suspicion, however, that these “ moderates ” would 
still be moderate to the last, and that if the preservation of the Cape 
depended upon them, it would be a lost country. 

When we came in here at first, the chief leader of the movement 
seemed to be a Mr. Ebden ; but he has been backsliding into modera- 
tism, and is superseded by a newspaper editor, named Fairbairn, a 
man of much ability and energy, and a most immoderate opponent of 
convicts. Ebden’s portrait, lately hung up in the public hall of 
meeting, has been thrown down and dishonored. Artists are now 
engaged on a grand historic piece representing the public meeting of 
yesterday, with Mynheer Smuts in the chair, and Mr. Fairbairn in the 
act of moving the great resolution interdicting the governor from fire 
and water. There is talk of martial law ; and in fact any moment of 
excitement now may give excuse for it. Capetown streets are always 
crowded ; there are continual open-air meetings; and the smallest 
act of imprudence, on either side, might bring about a collision whose 
issue it would be hard to foresee. 

The chances of a revolt are beginning to be much discussed. The 
Dutch, like every other nation that has ever had to do with the 
English government, cordially hate the English government; and are 
said to be perfectly willing, on any day, to proclaim the country 
independent, and take up arms to make good their words. The 
colonists of British descent also (except the small party of moderate 
slaves) are quite as determined in this business as their neighbors, and 
as disaffected too. On the other hand, the city of Capetown is abso¬ 
lutely commanded by the “ Castle ” and two small forts ; besides, it 
could be blown to atoms by the ships of war in half a day. The inte¬ 
rior country, however, is very strong, and to conquer it would need 
four times the force that the governor can command. 

One result of the present movement seems likely to be a true 
national spirit: this common danger threatening their country, 
common loss and risk in repelling it, mutual help and counsel 
against one and the same treacherous foe,—the very certificates, in 
Dutch and English, that carry travellers of either race through every 
valley, kloof, and plain, in the wide continent, opening all doors and 
all hearts to an enemy of Graaf Grey,—these are the influences that 
have power to make an accidental aggregation of settlers become a 


CAPE WINES. 


209 


national brotherhood instinct with the vital fire of liberty, and can 
transform the sons of English and of Dutch fathers into a self-de¬ 
pendent, high-spirited, nation of South Africans. So be it! There 
will be one free nation the more. 

I drink to-night, with enthusiasm, in red wine of Cape vines, the 
health of the future South African Republic. 

I have procured from shore a dozen of very tolerable wine—for they 
do not seem to regard their pledge as applying to me—and am 
disgusted at their practice of selling their own red wine with a seal 
upon its cork bearing the legend “ Port,” and their white as “ sherry.” 
And they actually manufacture and drug their grape-juice to make it 
resemble what the English drink for port and sherry in their own 
country. It is a mean, narrow-minded, and altogether British pro¬ 
ceeding—the South Africans ought to have respect to the produce of 
their own vineyards, be it good, bad, or indifferent—and some of it 
is bad enough. At any rate, they ought to call it Cape wine, 
designating the kinds according to the district or vineyard that yields 
them. Has not Drakenstein as good a sound as Rudesheim? or Hout- 
baai as Cote d'Or? When the Republic is established, they must 
reform this altogether. 

13 th. —The blockade at Capetown has grown very strict. Three 
persons have been detected supplying things to the government 
secretly, and so turning a clandestine penny, to the prejudice of the 
common weal. Their names and crimes were instantly blazoned on 
the corners of all streets—intercourse with them was suspended (op- 
teschorten)—all communications with them cut off (aftesnyden). One 
of them owned houses— all his tenants forthwith bundled up their 
effects, and fled as from plague-infected dwellings. Another attended 
a bullock sale, and bid for a lot—it was knocked down to him—he had 
the money in his hand to pay for it, when he was recognized as one of 
the traitors; the lot was forthwith put up again. The name of one of 
these unfortunate persons is Benjamin Norden, touching whom I 
extract an advertisement from the Zuid Afrikaan :— 

“Notice. —It is suspected that a person namedLery, or O’Leary, from George,is 
purchasing articles for Benjamin Norden. (Signed.) Alexander Miller, 13 Ileer- 
engracht. 12th Oct., 1S49.” 

The Cape newspapers, I observe, never mention my name: they 
cannot afford to let the public mind dwell upon the fact that there is 


210 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


anything on board the Neptune but a mass of incarnate burglary, 
thievery, and corruption. They call us all “ the unhappy men.” 

It is now generally supposed, by the naval persons here, that the 
last anti-convict movement will at last compel the governor to sus¬ 
pend the Constitution (such as it is), and proclaim martial law—or* 
rather put aside all law, and take what-he wants as in a hostile 
territory. My own impression still is that he will be able to maintain 
the public establishments without that odious proceeding: besides, 
he has none of the usual excuses for such an outrage, because the 
people are quite peaceable, every man only exercising his undoubted 
right over his own shop or warehouse. Nevertheless, Sir Harry, 
having a garrison of three or four thousand men to feed, would be 
already in sad extremity but for one or two desperately loyal individ¬ 
uals who are coming to his relief. There is a certain Captain Stanford, 
who has a large estate in Swellendam, and he has placed 2,000 head 
of cattle, besides sheep without number, at the governor’s disposal: 
but soldiers have to butcher the meat, to bake the bread, to build 
ovens to bake it in, and to endure incessant volleys of civilian 
laughter all the while. There was, by chance, in Table Bay, a vessel 
called the Rosebud, laden with flour for Port Natal: the governor laid 
hands on it, paid the freight to Natal, and brought the flour on shore 
—but soldiers had to row the boats : the black boatmen would hold 
no intercourse. 

All this while the commodore, who is our governor at Simonstown, 
and absolutely rules everything afloat, quietly provides store of sheep 
and bullocks by repeated raids. In the mornings I can count, through 
a glass, the tired brutes lying or grazing on a small patch of grass in 
front of his door. 

18th' —Mr. Stewart, the “ instructor,” went a few days ago to 
Capetown, and took up his lodgings in a hotel: he has just returned 
on board, having been obliged to walk half the wmy, because wiien 
they recognized him at Wynberg, he could get no horse or con¬ 
veyance for hire : says he left the hotel voluntarily ; but if he had 
stayed another night, would have been turned out. He went into a 
woollen draper’s shop, to purchase materials for a waistcoat; the 
cloth was folded and papered up for him, when some one came in 
who knew the convict-instructor : there was a whispering wuth the 
shopkeeper for a single instant, and then Mr. Stewart was informed 
that he could not be supplied there. He asked, with high indig¬ 
nation, if their pledge required them to deny clothing to a minister 


SOLEMN FAST. 


211 


of the gospel to cover his nakedness.’’ This strong way of putting 
the case staggered the woollendraper, who had not considered the 
matter in that precise point of view : he said he would step over 
and consult Mr. Fairbairn (the newspaper editor aforesaid), and on 
coming back said positively the thing could not be done. Mr. Fair¬ 
bairn sent word to Mr. Stewart that he might go to the governor for 
waistcoats.—Sir Harry Smith, victor of Aliwal, was the man to 
supply the convict department. 

Intelligence has arrived of the effects produced in remote places, 
Graaf Reynet, Grahamstown, &c., by the announcement that the 
accursed “ Neptune ” had actually cast anchor in Simon’s Bay.— 
“ Solemn fast ” everywhere: windows hung with crape ; bells 
funereally tolling: government officers placed under a complete 
interdict, and declared to be dead men, morally and politically 
defunct, until the bandits leave Simon’s Bay. Butchers and bakers 
say to them—“ We deal not with the dead : you are no more (for the 
Neptune floats in Simon’s Bay)—and it is impossible that departed 
spirits should need bread, or beef. We cannot take money from 
ghosts; therefore, avaunt, in the name of God!—the convicts ride at 
anchor in Simon’s Bay.” 

Almost all the justices of the peace throughout the country, who 
are paid officers of the government, are pouring in their resigna¬ 
tions ; and great numbers of persons called Field-cornets are doing 
the same. I do not well understand the office and duty of these 
Field-cornets: but whoever they are, they cannot think of holding 
any sort of communication with Sir Harry Smith till the “ Neptune ” 
leaves the bay. 

There is a functionary named Montague, secretary to the governor; 
and a very great man of the kind. He is just nowon an official tour 
through the interior; and though he has been accustomed to dis¬ 
tinguished receptions at all the district capitals upon such occasions 
—local authorities turning out to meet him with trumpets, or such 
other instruments of noise as they have,—now he can hardly get 
horses to hire, or lodgings to sleep in. Horses they will give him to 
return to Capetown, but none to proceed; and he reckons himself 
fortunate if he can borrow two chairs under a cattle-shed to spend 
the night, and dry bread enough to keep the life in him. To give 
him even so much, I regard as a culpable dereliction of principle. 

The “Apollo,” a large troop-ship, is come into the bay, and is 
moored within a cable’s length of us. She is a frigate ; carries four 


212 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


hundred men of the 59th regiment, and is bound for Hong Kong. 
Her arrival is chiefly important in that the splendid military band 
plays every morning and every evening, making the soft air thrill 
and tremble wrth delightful melody of march or waltz. 

Her arrival, however, is said to be regarded by the governor as 
important in another point of view; he may need the soldiers to 
quell a rebellion, and he may need the ship, to send her to St. 
Helena or Rio for provisions. So she is to remain here a few weeks, 
with her band. 

10th .—The shops of Capetown are still shut up ; but I gather from 
the papers, that the natural effects of a stoppage of business have 
begun to be felt severely—small tradesmen, journeymen, porters, 
all, in short, who depend on their daily wages, are suffering :—a few 
days ago the coolies went to the governor in a body three hundred 
strong to demand work and food ; the governor, it seems, sent them 
to Mr. Fairbairn, Mr. Fairbairn bade them go to Benjamin Norden, 
Benjamin Norden sent them to Mr. Sutherland. Now this is not the 
way to feed capons, much less coolies; and I fear if the struggle 
last long the laboring classes will tire of it altogether : they will 
think anti-convictism is good, but daily bread is better : shopkeepers 
too, unless rich, must soon give way, for rent and taxes cannot be 
paid out of closed shops. All this is unfortunate ; and I am truly 
sorry for the colonists—the violent demonstrations they have already 
made may provoke the Downing street ruffians to persist in swamping 
the country with felons, just because it is too weak and too poor 
to resist them effectually—mean, cruel, and treacherous tyrants! 

Mob-work has fairly begun. Mr. Norden was attacked by a violent 
mob in the streets, and his house was afterwards beset and the windows 
broken. He fired on them, but nobody was wounded. The very same 
evening a number of Malays fell upon Mr. Fairbairn at his house at 
Greenpoint, beat him, and destroyed a good deal of furniture. The 
persons who committed this last outrage were evidently employed by 
government people, for those of them who have been identified turn 
out to be officers’ servants. The governor avails himself of these 
riots to begin coercion : he has just issued a proclamation forbidding 
assemblies in the streets “ under pretence ” of discussing political 
questions (as if the public interest in the matter were all a pretence) 
and intimating that the police have orders to disperse all such 
assemblies. This is his first step—the next may probably be to 
prosecute Mr. Fairbairn and other newspaper editors, and suppress 


WIVES, OK REPUTED WIVES. 


213 


their papers : such is the way of governments. If Sir Harry Smith, 
now, would order his Attorney-General to indict the worthy Fairbairn 
for sedition before a prudently selected jury, composed of his own 
creatures and dependents, with the gunner’s mate of the Castor as 
foreman, undoubtedly Fairbairn would soon be a convict instead of 
an anti-convict. But I do not believe Old Sir Harry would con¬ 
descend to this species of ruffianism. He is a downright soldier, and 
no “ Ameliorative Viceroy.” 

I fear, I fear the colony is not strong enough to resist coercion, and 
to scourge this British redcoat into the sea. The whole Cape popula¬ 
tion, white, black, and brown, scattered over a vast territory, is under 
200 ,000,—and they are not able to reproduce the grand drama of 
Boston, Saratoga, and Yorktown, just yet. And their cause is more 
righteous—the outrage sought to be put upon them a thousand times 
more grievous. But justice and right do not always prevail in this 
world, nor often. “ That which is crooked cannot be made straight, 
and that which is wanting cannot be numbered.” 

23 d .—I have just learned that the Cape convict question is about 
to be still more complicated. One of Lord Grey’s dispatches to the 
governor mentions that the “ government” were about to send out to 
the Cape the wives and families of the Neptune convicts. In fact 
when the list of recommended prisoners was made out at Bermuda 
for transmission to England, two or three months before the “Nep¬ 
tune” came to Bermuda, each man was asked whether he was married, 
in what parish and county his wife and family resided, and whether 
he wished them to be brought out to him at the Cape, “ government ” 
paying half the expense. The married men all availed themselves, I 
was told, of this offer : the names and residences of their wives, &c., 
have been in Lord Grey’s hands now more than half a year ; and it 
is quite possible that these poor helpless women and children are even 
now at sea, on their way to this hospitable clime. The inhabitants 
of the Cape are now looking out for their arrival by every fair wind 
that blows into Table Bay. What kind of reception awaits the poor 
souls, the following extract from the proceedings of the Anti-Convict 
people indicates :— 

« ANTI-CONVICT ASSOCIATION. 

“ The Report of the Simon’s Bay Committee having been read—it was unani¬ 
mously 


214 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


“ Resolved —That Messrs. Hablutzel & Hugo, Butchers, at Simon’s Bay> have 
broken the Pledge. 

“ Moved by H. Sherman, Esq., 

“Seconded by P. Law, Esq., 

“ That this Meeting being of opinion, that the intention of Earl Grey to send to 
this Colony the Wives (or reputed Wives) and Families of Convicts as referred to 
in his Dispatch to the Governor of this Colony, dated ISth July, 1849, would be 
highly injurious to the interests and moral welfare of the community. Resolved, 
that they will not under any circumstances knowingly employ, admit into their 
houses, or establishments, work with, or for, or associate with any of the afore¬ 
mentioned Wives and Families of Convicts, and that they will drop connexion with 
any person who may give them employment. 

“ Carried unanimously. 

“ A Resolution was proposed by Mr. Fairbairn, the consideration of which was 
ordered to be postponed—till a special meeting, to be held on Thursday at 10 
o’clock. (Signed) J. J. L. Smuts, Chairman.” 

And the stupid rogues in Downing street, who work all this woe 
and ruin, still call themselves the “ government,” and do not, and 
will not, go and hang themselves. 


HUNGARY 


AND RUSSIA 



CHAPTER XIII. 

News from Europe—Hungary holds her ground—“ Opinion stronger than Arms ”— 
Dublin Nation, New Series—Queen in Ireland—Tim O’Brien—Young Ireland 
nowhere—Her Majesty in a “ green silk visite ”—Does not visit Skibbereen 
Thomas Carlyle in Ireland—Dispatch from England—Hungary is Down—Kos¬ 
suth and Bern—Hungary Immortal—England in Asia—England in Europe—The 
Future of America” Dublin Nation again—The Irishman —Government- 
Massacre in Ireland—A Slave-ship—The Southern Hemisphere—Confusion of 
Feasts and Fasts—The AnthConvict Association—Letter of W. P. Laubscher— 
Letter of Hendrick Morkel. 

Oct. 26th, 1849.—Still on board the Neptune, Simon’s Bay. A 
ship has arrived from England, but does not carry our destiny. Two 
weekly newspapers. News from Europe up to 11th August. The 
Hungarians are still beating both Austrians and Russians in gallant 
style : it has begun to be highly probable that Hungary will be a free 
and potent nation. Whereupon the English newspapers have dis¬ 
covered that Hungary really was a nation, and had a right to assert 
her nationhood. Lord Palmerston, too, in Parliament, declares that 
the hearts of the people of England—bless their hearts!—are enlisted 
on the sides of the Hungarians, if that be any comfort. Bern and 
Georgey have brought matters so far. Lord Palmerston being asked 
why Britain should content herself with expressing an opinion against 
Russian intervention in Hungary—why not take arms?—answers, in 
the enthusiastic cant which now prevails, “ That opinion is stronger 
than arms.” It is enough to make the Russian bear laugh. 

British opinion, however, seems to be little regarded on the conti¬ 
nent : their levy of enlisted “hearts ” is not reckoned a very formid¬ 
able contingent. Clubs are trumps there, and hearts do not count. 

This delightful spirit of peace which now rules British councils 
must be very satisfactory to the Seiks and to the Irish. British 
reverence for “ opinion,” also, is surely most comfortable in Ireland, 
where all anti-British opinion must be suppressed, and those who 
utter it imprisoned or transported. 


216 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


I find a paragraph copied from the Globe, stating that Mr. Duffy, 
being now at large, and safe from any farther trial on his present 
indictment, has advertised a new series of the Nation to be shortly 
commenced; but the Globe adds that the “ government ” (the same 
fellows who so profoundly revere opinion, their own opinion) have 
refused to issue stamps for it. A law has been found, too, a most 
convenient law, whereby no newspaper in Ireland may publish any¬ 
thing at all save by favor and sufferance of the “ government ”—or 
transmit a single number, even stamped, through the post-office, save 
by the courtesy of the postmaster-general, that is, of the same 
u government.” 

One is at first inclined to say, that the people of England are look¬ 
ing stupidly on at all these late proceedings in Ireland, blind to tho 
danger that menaces their own liberties. But not so : every English¬ 
man feels that by this tyranny over press and people in Ireland, 
British supremacy is the thing that is asserted. They know that it 
means simply “ the Red above the Green.” They never dream of 
Irish government maxims being applied, or applicable to England— 
and they are right. 

In this particular case of the Nation , however, if Lord Clarendon 
do indeed refuse stamps, it will be a gross blunder. He ought to 
allow Duffy to publish : for the new series will be perfectly constitu¬ 
tional, safe and legal—cannot be otherwise after the evidence Mr. 
Duffy produced on his trial to prove his moral-force character ; in¬ 
deed, it will be such a newspaper as, if not published by Duffy, Lord 
Clarendon ought to pay somebody to publish—taking care also to 
give it the very name, “ The Nation .” 

Oil! patient, patient public! A new series of the Nation, by Duffy, 
and after the scenes of the last few months! I know no parallel to 
this, except the “ young spodizator” whom Dr. Rabelais saw with his 
own eyes, earning his livelihood in a somewhat peculiar manner, 
namely, very artificially drawing (3<5eojuaTa out of a dead ass, and 
retailing them at five pence per yard. 

Queen in Ireland.— This year her majesty’s advisers deemed the 
coast clear for the royal yacht. Plenty of blazing vociferous excite¬ 
ment—called “ loyalty.” Loyalty, you are to know, consists in a 
willingness to come out into the street to see a pageant pass. Besides, 
the visit was most happily timed—the “ additional powers ” would 
not expire for a month yet—Habeas Corpus still in suspension—jails 
still yawning for seditious persons—Lord Clarendon still wielding his 


NOWHERE. 


217 


U YOUNG IRELAND,” 

lettres de cachet . No happier combination of circumstances could be 
imagined ; so her gracious majesty has come and enthroned herself in 
the hearts of her Irish subjects ; and. the newspapers are to say (at 
their peril) that a brighter day is just going to dawn for Ireland. 

Mr. Tim O'Brien does the honors of the city of Dublin to the 
British sovereign ; presents her with the keys of the “ gate ”—a gate 
somewhere between Irishtown and the end of Lower Baggot street, 
where was no city gate in my time. And Mr. Tim O’Brien is made, 
or to be made, a baronet. Now, it is certainly the sheriff of last year 
rather, who ought to have been so honored. No gentleman in Ireland 
deserves reward from the Queen of Engl am? more richly than last 
year’s sheriff. If the intercession of so humble a convict as myself 
would have any weight with her majesty, I should venture to recom¬ 
mend Mr. French (that is the individual’s name, I believe) for some¬ 
thing handsome. And if my fellow-felons, Messrs. Martin and 
O’Dogherty, were not so far off, I feel sure they also would be happy 
to add their testimony in his favor. 

N.B.—The newspaper I have seen, says, the queen met with nothing 
but loyalty ; and that “ Young Ireland was nowhere to be seen.” 
And the Times asks triumphantly, “ where were the vitriol bottles ?” 
as if anybody had proposed to sprinkle the queen with vitriol. 

N.B. (2)—Her majesty wore, at Cork, a “ green silk visite ;” also 
carried a parasol of purple silk (perhaps vitriol proof). Her majesty 
first touched Irish soil at the Cove of Cork—which is henceforth 
Queenstown. Her majesty did not visit Spike Island. 

N.B. (3)—Her majesty, on board her yacht, in Kingstown harbor, 
took her children by the hand, and “ introduced them (in dumb show) 
to the Irish people,” in a very touching manner. 

N.B. (4)—Synod of Ulster had a deputation of their paid preachers 
to meet her majesty in Dublin. Oh! where were the Remonstrant 
Synod? Do they apprehend no danger to their little donum ? 

N.B. (5)—Her majesty did not visit Skibbereen, Westport, or Scull; 
neither did she “ drop in ” (as sometimes in Scotland) to dine with 
any of the peasantry on their “ homely fare.” After a few years, 
however, it is understood that her majesty will visit the West—the 
human inhabitants are expected by that time to have been sufficiently 
thinned, and the deer and other game to have proportionably 
multiplied. The Prince Albert will then take a hunting-lodge in 
Connemara,, 


10 



218 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


But, Ireland, as I see by these same papers, has had a far more 
royal visitor. Carlyle has been there again, in company with a 
gentleman named Forster. I have no doubt that he will be delivered 
of a book on the subject of Ireland soon ; unless I much mistake his 
symptoms he was going with such a book eighteen months ago.— 
There will be a curious book!* I trust that I may be in some part 
of the world whither its winged words will find their way ; for, indeed, 
Thomas Carlyle is the only man in these latter days, who produces 
what can properly be termed Books. 

Meantime enter a basket, with superb clusters of grapes—African 
grapes, smooth and round, with a glow of opaline light in the heart 
of them—clusters that might seduce Erigone. 

1850.— Jan. 1st. —Still riding at anchor in this weary Simon’s 
Bay. There is no change whatever since I made my last memo¬ 
randum—more than two months ago : and how much longer we may 
have to stay, nobody can guess. About three weeks siuce arrived to 
the governor a dispatch from Earl Grey, simply acknowledging the 
receipt of his alarming and objurgatory dispatches of August last, 
and adding that he will send a final order for the farther disposal of 
the prisoners on board the Neptune, “.after he shall have heard of the 
arrival of that ship at the Cape,”—that is to say, after the prisoners 
shall have been five months or so in a close unwholesome prison here , 
recruiting after their live months’ voyage. There is something very 
cool in this. The colonists are nearly frantic : they made sure that 
in reply to Sir Harry Smith’s August dispatches would come au order 
to take the Neptune away; and are now mortally afraid that when 
the extreme measures of the ultra-party (denying victuals to the 
army, &c.j. shall come to be known in England, ministers will think 
themselves bound, for the dignity of the Empire and the United 
Service, and all that, to coerce the Cape into receiving this one ship¬ 
load at least. A new feature in public opinion here is, that it now 
pretends to commiserate the poor convicts, so long detained in custody 
by Lord Grey’s cruel delay:—if Sir Harry Smith, now, had but 
complied with the urgent demand of these philanthropists three 
months ago, and sent the- Neptune to cruise between this and the 
South Bole, the poor convicts would have seen the end of their 

* It has not come to light yet: and one is even inclined to hope that it may have 
miscarried. Carlyle cannot write rationally about Ireland; and he believes that 
Carthage has a mission to conquer the world. Bothwell, 1st January , 1852. 


EUROPE IS DOWN. 


210 


sorrows long since : and the Neptune, cruising there in secula secu- 
lorum would have been a new hying Dutchman to the mariners of 
the South. 

Hungary is down —Venice, Rome, Baden, all down, and the Kings 
and Grand Dukes are everywhere rampant—for the present. In 
their very rampant folly and fury, lies hope for the future. Parma 
—even Parma, forbids people to meet “ under pretence,” of Casinos, 
circles and the like. The Austrians are hanging and shooting 
general officers, and scourging noble ladies on the bare back. 
Kossuth, the immortal governor, and Bern, the fine old general, 
refugees in Turkey. Other Hungarians and Poles flying to the 
United States. Justice and right everywhere buried in blood. Has 
the people’s blood then been shed utterly in vain ? By God, no! 
The blood of men fighting for freedom is never shed in vain—the 
earth will not cover it:—from the ground it cries aloud, and the 
Avenger knoweth his day and his hour. Hungary is heucelorth and 
for ever a great nation—how much greater now than before her 
bloody agony ! how much grander her history ! how much richer her 
treasure of heroic memories! how much surer and higher her destiny! 
.—It is through this bloody travail and by virtue ol this baptism oi 
fire, and only so, that nations ever spring forth, great, generous, and 
free. If Ireland, in ’82, instead of winning her independence from 
the coward foe by the mere flash of unbloody swords, had, like 
America, waded through carnage to her freedom, like America she 
had been free this day. A disastrous war even, had been better than 
a triumphant parade.—Indeed, those lines of Byron are profoundly 
true and noble :— 

For Freedom’s battle, once begun, 

Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, 

Though baffled oft, is ever won. 

Ah! then, Freedom, once it is fairly and dearly won, is no commodity 
for trading politicians to sell, as the high-minded chivalry of Ireland 
sold and delivered our ’82 simulacrum of liberty. 

In the meantime it is amusing to the mind to see the self-com¬ 
placency of all literary organs of “ Order,” as they call this chained 
quiescence. 

In India, the enemy’s government are preparing for the invasion 
of Cashmere, no doubt to establish order there. Gholab Singh holds 
Cashmere, and has a fine army and 150 pieces of cannon. 

But England in Asia and England in Europe, are two very 


220 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


different things.—Tn Europe, that truly civilized and Christian 
nation is only offering her opinion; and it gives me sincere pleasure 
to remark how cordially that is contemned on all sides, and how the 

nations are beginning to perceive that the old-■ cannot afford to 

fight. The London newspapers praise everything that succeeds: they 
patted Hungary on the back for a month or two, but now congratu¬ 
late Austria most warmly, and the Times recommends to the 
emperor, England’s dealings towards Ireland, as an example for his 
future administration of Hungarian affairs. By the same rule they 
ridiculed the French excessively at first for their attack upon Rome ; 
but now find that, after all, the cause of the French was the cause of 
“ order,” and that, therefore, it is all right. The anxiety they show 
to keep on good terms with France, especially, is highly diverting to 
the benevolent mind which remembers the superhuman friendship 
between France and England, about the breaking out of the great 
Revolution. What is highly satisfactory is that Europe is clearly 
beginning to understand all this British cant, about “ Peace ” and 
“ Order,” to know that it means simply Credit-funds, and the Com¬ 
mercial status quo. And Europe will act accordingly. The events 
of last year have brought the prestige of Britain immeasurably and 
irremediably down.—This is good. 

Have been reading the Quarterly Review on Lyell’s tour in North 
America. The Quarterly rejoices, quite generously, in American 
Art, and “ Progress,” and so forth,—but is mainly solicitous that the 
Americans should—for their own sake of course— stay at peace. 
“For,” says the generous reviewer, “As the future of America, to 
be a glorious future, must be a future of peace, so we would hopo 
that it may be fruitful in all which embellishes and occupies and 
glorifies peace.”—Most balmy language ! but was it in peace then that 
Athens or Corinth grew great in art ? Was it in times of peace that 
Holland, from a community of clod-hoppers, sprang up into a high- 
spirited and noble nation, renowned in Art and in all which 
embellishes, and hallows, et cetera ? Was the age of Louis Four¬ 
teenth an age of peace to France ? When the Italian cities were 
becoming the chosen home of Learning, Freedom, Commerce ( honest 
Commerce), Art and Glory,—was there peace in the land in those 
days?—As for America herself, what made America ? Was it peace ? 
In short, everybody in America, as well as everybody in Europe, 
must, by this time understand thoroughly the British peace-cant. 




THE 


“NATION’ : AND 


IRISHMAN. 


221 


11 


5 5 


I have seen extracts from the new Nation. Mr. Duffy can hardly 
find words for his disgust, his contempt, “ his utter loathing ” of 
those who will say now that Ireland can win her rights by force. I 
thought so. The Times praises the new Nation, and calls its first 
article “ a symptom of returning sense in Ireland.” 

The Ballingarry folly, this Natio7i calls* “ an utterly unsuccessful 
revolution .” Young Ireland calls upon his countrymen to accept 
the defeat of Ballingarry. Ireland’s strength, he thinks, was tested at 
Ballingarry. If the country (says Young Ireland) could have been 
saved by human prowess, hac d extra fuisset, at Ballingarry. 
Therefore, Mr. Duffy is for the system of Irishmen growing indi¬ 
vidually independent, energetic, and truthful men (under British 
rule)—and then when they shall feel, after stern self-examination, 
that they are fit to manage their own affairs, then dissolve the Union 
with England. Thus blasphemes this traitor :—thus snivels, rather, 
this most pitiable sinner. 

The Cork Southern Reporter echoes the new Nation , and even 
tries to go beyond it in treason. Mr. Barry quarrels with Mr. Duffy 
for keeping the Independence of Ireland before men’s eyes even as 
an ultimate and far-distant object; he is for “ putting it in abeyance,” 
that is, dropping it altogether. Mr. Barry, therefore, is stupid 
and cowardly, but not half so dishonest as Mr. Duffy. These 
poor creatures will soon have few readers among the country 
people.* 

One number of the Irishman has come to my hands: it is pub¬ 
lished at No. 4 D’Olier street, and by Fulham ; and the editor is 
Joseph Brennan. This appears to be the true representative of the 
old Nation ; but they have not a proper staff of competent writers 
for it. The Irishman professes to preach the doctrines of me, J. M. 
If I am their prophet and guide, I am like to lead my votaries and 
catechumens on a cruise to the Southern Ocean— ahade pvarau Yet, 
I know not. Mr. Fulham is a man of business ; possibly, they cal¬ 
culate on the jury-packing system being blown and broken down ; 

* I have seen reason to believe that I did injustice to Mr. Barry in the above. I 
find that Mr. Barry, after the signal failure to make so much as an insurrection 
(to say nothing of a revolution) in ’48, openly, frankly, and without any arriere 
pensee, gave up the cause of Ireland as a distinct nationality, accepted the pro¬ 
vincial destiny, and concluded that Ireland must make the best of that. In freely 
avowing this change of sentiment he was at least not‘‘ cowardly,”— whether stupid 
or not will appear hereafter. 


222 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


and if they be right in that calculation, they have the game in 
their hands. I would they had two or three dashing writers ! 

Last July, the government ” got up a very horrid massacre in 
the county Down. There w r as a great Orange procession of armed 
men: they marched, with banners displayed, through a district 
inhabited chiefly by Catholics; and there, at Dolly’s-brae, between 
Castlewellan and Banbridge, a collision took place of course : a 
large force of police and military was present, and they took part, 
also of course, with the Orangemen: five or six Catholics were 
killed, five or six of their houses burned; only one Orangeman or 
two, seriously hurt ;—and the procession went on its way in triumph. 
Lord Roden, it appears, had feasted the Orangemen at Bryansford, 
and excited them with “ loyal ” toasts ; and afterwards, when infor¬ 
mations were sought against the Orange Rioters at the hands of the 
said Lord Roden, presiding at a bench of magistrates, he very pro¬ 
perly refused. Very properly, for there is no law in Ireland now. 
I know no reason why Orangemen should not burn Papists’ houses 
now. 

However, this demonstration went somewhat beyond the govern¬ 
ment intention—or they pretend that it did ; and they take Lord 
Roden to task. Lord Roden justly feels this to be a piece of treach¬ 
ery us well as insolence—reminds the government that they wanted 
a loyal demonstration in Ulster this year. Well, this is a loyal de¬ 
monstration. What would they have? “Government,” however, 
feels constrained, by virtuous public opinion, to dismiss Lord Roden 
and two other rampant Orangemen from the Commission of the 
Peace.* 

In the South, there is an universal feeling this winter that the per¬ 
sons who raise corn ought to provide for their own sustenance before 
any other charge, even rent: it is called a horrid conspiracy in the 
newspapers: the country-people meet by night in armed parties, and 
carry off grain, &c., to places of safety, leaving the bailiffs and poor- 
rate collectors to mourn over empty haggards. They also beat off, 
or shoot or stab the police, when those functionaries interfere. All 
this also is quite right. The people know now that there is no law in 
Ireland, no property, no rights: they are in a state of nature, and 

* It was proved, however, on the investigation into this case that the govern¬ 
ment had sent a supply of arms shortly before to Belfast, out of Dublin Castle for 
distribution amongst the Orange Lodges. j. M. 


T n E SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE. 


223 


tlioy know it at last. Ally other nation in Europe, under similar cir¬ 
cumstances, would have recognized that fact three years ago. 

Jan. Y6th .—It blew a hard gale from the S. E. last night: this 
morning a strange ship, with only one mast standing, was seen deeply 
bedded in the sands here in Simon’s Bay. She had been driven in 
during the night. Turns out to be a slaver, captured in the Mozam¬ 
bique channel, and sent here under charge of a naval-officer. She 
will be allowed to go to pieces where she lies, and her materials will 
be sold. 

This is surely the stormiest coast in the world—the wind at this 
season almost constantly from the S. E., and once in ten days there is 
always a furious storm. During calms the weather is very hot now: 
I trust I am not to spend another Christmas in light clothes, panting 
under an awning. I wish the southern hemisphere well, but shall not 
take up my abode here if I can help it. I respect the Southern Cross, 
but pray that my own destiny may be cast under Arcturus and his 
suns. All the traditions and associations of times and seasons are 
reversed and confounded here : think of May morning falling at Hal¬ 
lowmas !—and instead of burning a yule-log, wooing thorough 
draughts, and hiding from the flagrant sun at Christmas! What 
becomes of St. Swithin and his showers? Of Candlemas and its ice? 

Si Sol splendescat Maria purificante 
Major erit glacies post festum quam fuit ante. 

What a wrong-sided view of Christianity you get in these parts! 
Why, the apple-trees are in blossom in Halloweve, and on St. John’s 
day men wear thick greatcoats in the house. 

Besides, there is no action, no living, properly to speak, in a 
country so reniote from all the great centres of this world’s business : 
whatever is done here can only be said to be inchoate, provisional, 
and not a perfect act, until news of it go to England, and an answer 
return. You address yourself to the public opinion of your country¬ 
men through the newspapers, and for three months your eloquent 
remarks lie frozen, or if not frozen, at least sodden, in the “region 
of calms,” and the sultry trade-winds—it is all the same—your 
eoutrymen do not hear a word you say until the whole affair is 
months old, and when the result of your appeal comes to hand, 
perhaps you are dead. You are three months in arrear of events, and 
will never come up with them—panting steam toils after them in vain. 
Heavens! while I sit scribbling here, there may be a European cam- 


224 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


paign half fought out—the credit funds may he burst—Changaraier 
or Oudinot may be in Buckingham palace—Tipperary may be . 
In short—in short—it will never do, wasting time here, pretending to 
be alive on what Milton calls the backside ot the world. If I am put 
ashore within the colony, under whatsoever vigilance of custody, it 
will go hard, but I will revisit the glimpses of the moon. But be still, 
oh my soul! 

The agitation and excitement here still continue as violent as the 
newspapers and Anti-Convict Association can contrive to make them 5 
but with all they can do there is evidently an abatement from the 
original fervor of anti-convict rage, though none whatever in the 
universal determination to adhere to the pledge , in its strictest letter, 
if Graaf Grey should ultimately order the convicts to be landed, 
Meanwhile we all await the Downing street doom, and I, at least, 
with perfect equanimity and good-humor. It was on the 12th of 
October {three months ago yesterday), that the Eurydice frigate 
sailed out of this bay bearing intelligence which was expected to 
elicit Lord Grey s final dispatch ; and it is therefore possible that the 
mystic packet of red-tape Destiny is now off Madeira, or Ascension, 
or beating to windward near the coast of Brazil, or scudding to 
leeward under close-reefed topsails in the latitude of Tristan 
d’Acunha. Or the ship may have gone down with the red-tape in 
her—or the Eurydice herself may have been lost on her way home. 
Ah ! miseram Eurydicen ! Or the ministry may have gone out, and 
the new Colonial Secretary will know nothing about it—must have a 
correspondence with the Cape before he can decide anything; a few 
half years, more or less, will make little difference to a crew of 
convicts. Did ever human destiny hang before on so precarious a 
tape? 

As to the place we are likely to be sent to, if not landed here, con¬ 
jectures are numerous and wild. The favorite guess now seems to 
be that the Neptune is to make a beginning of a new penal colony in 
New Guinea, among the Papua cannibals. At the Cape, or at New 
Guinea, our reception promises to be equally hospitable —here the 
people would give us nothing to eat —there they would feed us 
indeed, but only to fatten us for their own tables. These are cheer¬ 
ing speculations. 

I have omitted to make a regular record of the “Anti-Convict 
movementsfor, in fact, there is so much sameness in them, that I 
tire of reading the papers. The symptoms of a chronic disorder, 



POWER OF THE A. 0. ASSOCIATION. 225 

being the same every morning, would not be interesting to read of. 
But from yesterday’s Commercial Advertiser I will copy two letters, 
the reading of which, and consultation thereupon, formed part of the 
business of the Association at its last meeting: 

“Sir: About the month of October last I sent three wagons of 
mine, with sheaves, to the town-market. On their arrival there, a 
young man of color came aud offered my children a reasonable price 
(without mentioning what it was for), but when the bargain was 
closed he would show where the wagons were to be unloaded. The 
wagons were subsequently brought by that lad to New street, behind 
the residence of Adrian Beck ; and when they were unloaded, Adrian 
Beck made his appearance and paid for the sheaves. My children 
have consequently sinned innocently , because, as the bargain had 
been already concluded, and the best part of the sheaves delivered, 
they had no alternative. But this had, however, the effects that my 
children were placed under the pledge, a3 also myself, with a wife 
and young children. This has gone to the extent that no one will 
buy from, or sell to them or me. And moreover, I have in con¬ 
sequence been summoned by one of my creditors, who, but for this 
occurrence, would not have done so. I therefore beg leave to pray 
you, as chairman of the Anti-Convict Association, to bring my case 
before your meeting, and kindly to decide in my behalf, in order to 
prevent my total ruin. Expecting a favorable answer, I remain, &c., 

“ Wentzel Pieter Laubscher.” 

Poor Laubscher lives in the district of Stellenbosch ; and the 
Association have simply referred him and his complaint to the local 
authorities, that is to the Stellenbosch branch Association. The 
truth is, Mynheer Laubschcrs account of himself is not satisfactory : 
he was bound, or his innocently sinful children were bound, to be sure 
they were not selling their sheaves to a traitor ; and Adrian Beck is 
a well-known supplier of convicts and government: I know his name 
as the name of a “bad member” months^ago; and while I eat his 
bread and beef I denounce him as a traitor. 

The other letter is from Hendrick Johannes Morkel: 

Sir : It is with great reluctance that I again trouble you, but cir¬ 
cumstances render it unavoidable. You are aware, Sir, that for an 
alleged violation of the pledge all intercourse was dropped with me 

10 * 


226 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


by the public. When I perceived it, immediate steps were taken by 
me to disprove the charges thus falsely laid against me, and satisfy 
the public mind that I was perfectly innocent of w r hat I w r as accused 
of. I applied to the Anti-Convict Association of Hottentots Holland 
for the privilege of having my case inquired into, and if found 
innocent, to be restored to public favor. This, my application, has 
been entirely disregarded; and I find that I can no longer endure 
the pain of public contempt, whilst I sincerely regret any proceeding 
of mine which may have beeil construed into an act of disrespect for 
the opinion of the public ; and being desirous of granting all my 
influence and support to the Anti-Convict Association, in order to aid 
the people in accomplishing this grand object, I beg to request that 
the A. C. Association of Capetown, as the parent of all the other 
Associations, will cause the necessary inquiries to be made into my 
case, and to see justice done to one of its true members. I have, &c., 

“H. J. Morkel. 77 

With this letter came a certificate, signed by the delinquent’s 
father, solemnly declaring that the “ sheep were sold 77 under a mis¬ 
take.-Referred, as before, to the local association. 

See how “ public contempt 77 brings this fellow to his knees ! He is 
ready to sink into the earth at the imputation of so shameful a crime, 
the crime of being loyal to Downing street and traitor to the Cape. 

Thus public opinion with a high hand rules the Cape. How, in the 
meantime, the governor and commodore get their supplies I know 
not; but so it is, they eat and live. And as for the convicts, I wish 
the unconvicted Irish could keep half so good a table. 



NO DISPATCH. 


227 


CHAPTER XIV. 

No Dispatch—“ Wearing the Ring of our Anchor ”—An Alarm—Victor of Aliwal 
Shall not have a Statue—Curious Law-suit—Plaintiffs and Defendants Repudiate 
the Judges—News of the “ Felons ” in Van Diemen’s Land—Dispatch at Last— 
Conditional Pardon to all on Board—“ Except Prisoner Mitchel ”—Pleasing 
Anticipations—English Newspapers—Ireland Tranquil—Neptune gets Ready for 
Sea—Rejoicings—Dluminations—Good-night to Africa—Van Diemen’s Land 
Appears—D’Entrecasteaux Channel—Hobart Town—Official Documents— 
Ticket-of-Leave—Parole—The Irish Exile Newspaper—A Smoke with John 
Martin. 

January 20 th, 1849.—On board the Neptune , Simon’s Bay.— 
Matters go on as before. The colonists await the Downing street 
aw r ard : and so do I. But there is feverish impatience and expectancy 
ashore ; and no wonder. What a terrible new element convictism 
will be to this colony if the red-tape rascals succeed in forcing it on ! 
But the people seem to be girding themselves up to prepare for the 
worst—providing door-bolts and locks, also rifles and ammunition, 
with commendable diligence. A good clergyman of Simonstown— 
why should I not name the worthy fellow?—Mr. Judge, who comes 
to s^e me sometimes, has assured me that the inhabitants of the 
country, even in the neighborhood of Capetown, seldom secure their 
houses at night by barring the door or otherwise : and when he speaks 
of the bare possibility of these three hundred choice miscreants, who 
have graduated in burglary and thievery in the finest schools on 
earth, being let loose among his parishioners, tears of indignation 
and apprehension stand in his eyes. I trust the evil day may be 
averted from him and them. 

Feb. 8th .—No dispatch yet; and we have been rocking here in 
Simon’s Bay, “wearing the ring of our anchor” as the captain says, 
nearly five months. Oh! thou Dispatch of heaven, rise upon our 
darkness like a star! let thy red-tape dawn upon us out of the 
northern wave! I am tired of the Cape: for the vintage season is 


228 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


long past; and I can no longer have my usual breakfast of grapes 
and coffee. 

A few days ago there was an alarm—a large black-hulled steam¬ 
ship,. like a man-of-war, appeared rounding the southwestern point of 
False Bay. I thought I recognized the “ Scourge,” the very pirate 
craft that carried me to Bermuda tw T o years ago. Our dispatch at 
last, thought every one. The captain of the Neptune, the “ surgeon- 
superintendent,” the naval people on shore, all made sure that 
suspense would be at an end in half an hour. Signal flags carry the 
news flying over the mountains and Constantia vineyards, to Cape¬ 
town. Now, ye Anti-Convict leaders, what if the crisis is upon you ? 
what if Lord Grey have sent out positive orders to land the bandits, 
and an additional regiment of soldiers to look on? How beats the 
general pulse at the Town Hall this morning ? Turns the cheek of 
Fairbairn pale or red ? I could almost wish to see the issue tried. 

But the ship turns out to be the “ Hindostan,” a Red-Sea steamer, 
returning from London, where she has been newly refitted. And she 
brings no dispatches. 

Sir Harry Smith has not issued his government paper-money—if he 
did, I believe nobody would take it at any price. Never was a nomi¬ 
nal government before brought to such a state of contempt. One 
thing is said to gall the fine old soldier terribly ;—the colonists had a 
project lately of erecting at Capetown a marble statue of the hero of 
Aliwal, the Pacificator of the Caffir frontier ; and subscriptions were 
opened for it in all districts. The contributors are now everywhere 
changing the destination of the money, and transferring it from the 
statue fund to the anti-convict association. The man who would not 
send the Neptune straight to sea again, the very moment of her arri¬ 
val, shall have no statue in South Africa. But nothing has so perfectly 
convinced me of the impotence of government, and omnipotence of 
the people, as certain legal proceedings that have lately taken place. 

A Mr. Letterstedt brought an action of damages against Fairbairn 
and others, members of the A. C. Association, for having published 
his name and pointed him out for public vengeance, and so injured 
him ih his business : he claimed £5,000. The Attorney-General, 
Mr. Porter (an Irish lawyer, and very able man) -was his leading 
counsel. The case excited intense interest, as so many other cases 
must stand or fall with it. But when it came on for hearing before 
the three judges of the Supreme Court (in civil cases there are no 
juries), the defendants declined the jurisdiction of the court, on the 


THE JUDGES REPUDIATED. 


229 


ground that two of the three judges had already prejudged the case, 
because they had given their opinion to the government that it 
would be illegal for him to send away the JYeptune by his own 
authority. So preposterous a ground of declinature never .was heard 
of in any court; and so the Attorney-General clearly proved ; and so 
it was ruled by the majority of the judges, that is by the two who 
were excepted against; whereupon the third, one Musgrave, said he 
was not satisfied, and that he would not sit with the other two to try 
the case. And now comes the best part of the story : Mr. Musgrave 
having retired, the other two -were to proceed with the trigl, and 
appointed a day. On the day appointed, the defendants withdrew 
their plea—they would make no defence—would not, even by their 
presence, countenance any judicial proceedings of government judges, 
convict judges, judges who found law against sending the Neptune 
away—they would just let these evil bandit judges decide as they 
pleased, and would carry the whole affair before the queen in counsel 
—then the Attorney-General was to proceed ex-parte, making no 
doubt of heavy damages for his client. Another adjournment of the 
court took place, and on the next morning, Mr. Attorney comes into 
court with a long countenance—announces that his client, Mr. Letter- 
stedt, will not proceed with his action. Neither plaintiff nor defen¬ 
dants, on maturely considering the matter, will hold any communica¬ 
tions with Sir Harry Smith’s judges—who had dreamed of law against 
sending away the Neptune. 

In other words, the case was removed from the Supreme Court to 
the new Super-Supreme Court of Public Opinion, by certiorari. The 
Anti-Convict Association is now the court of first instances and of 
last resort, in South Africa. 


I have been very ill again for the last two months—the same dam¬ 
nable asthma: nearly as bad as at Bermuda, but not quite. It is the 
close imprisonment, I think, and the suspense, and want of exciting 
occupation, that give the foul fiend such power over me. 

Feb. 1C )th. —The Cape papers give extracts from Yan Diemen’s 
Land papers, by which I find that O’Brien, Meagher, O’Donoghue 
and MacManus, in the “ Swift,” and Martin and O’Doherty in the 
“ Elphinstone,” all arrived at Hobart-town about the same time— 
that they have been allowed to live at large, but each within a 
limited district, and no tivo of them nearer than thirty or forty 



230 


JAIL J O U 11 N A L . 


miles. Even to be admitted to thus much liberty, each was required 
to promise that he would not make use of it to eflect his escape. 
O’Brien refuses to give this promise, and is, therefore, sent to a 
small island off the coast, named Maria Island, which is appropriated 
to the most desperate convicts. It is not easy to understand the 
object of so carefully separating the prisoners, and planting each by 
himself in the midst of a felonious population, unless it be, by 
depriving them of one another’s society, to force them into asso¬ 
ciation with such miscreants as they are likely to meet, that so they 
may become at last the felons their enemies call them. Or, possibly, 
it is done with a view to more easily reducing them singly to sub¬ 
mission. “ Government,” of course, would like to bring us all to 
our knees, and present us in the attitude of begging pardon .—And 
if these men were allowed to live together, they might support one 
another’s spirit, and speak disaffected words, and possibly, even 
hatch seditious schemes for future practice. JVow, it is hoped that, 
surrounded by strangers, never hearing or seeing anything to 
remind them of their cause and comrades, and almost forgetting the 
sound of their own voices, they may grow weary of their lives, 
their spirit may bow or break, and they may crawl to the foot of her 
most gracious Majesty’s throne. My Lords Grey and Russell, and 
Clarendon, we will try conclusions with you in this matter. 

But tho lot of these men is hard and cruel: aud I now expect 
that it will be my lot also. Whatever “ her Majesty’s government ” 
may do with these poor Neptune convicts, my destiny, I feel assured, 
will be an allocation in some remote Van Diemen’s Land police 
district—to live there alone, as best I may. breathing the miasma of 
that most hideous den, that so I may cease to do evil and learn to 
do well. 

Feb. 13th .—I knew it. Lord'Grey’s dispatches have arrived. 
Captain of the flag-ship came on board here to-day, accompanied by 
some naval officers. He took his stand on the quarter-deck at the 
capstan; and the prisoners were all ordered up from below to hear 
their fate. I was walking on the poop, and stopped at the rail a 
few minutes looking down at the scene. The men poured aft as far 
as the gangway in gloomy masses, some scowling black, some pale 
as death ; and when Captain Bance unfolded his papers the burliest 
burglar held his breath for a time.—Neptune to proceed forthwith to 
Van Diemen’s Land ; on arrival there prisoners to receive (in com¬ 
pensation for the hardships of their long voyage and detention) her 


EXCEPT PRISONER M I T 0 II E L. 


231 


11 


1 > 


gracious majesty’s “ conditional pardon ”—except “ the prisoner 
Mitohel,” whose case Lord Grey says, being entirely different from 
all the others, is reserved, for separate consideration, but special 
instructions respecting it are to be forwarded to the governor of 
Van Diemen's Land. When the reader came to the exception of 
“ the prisoner Mitchel,” he raised his voice, and spoke with impres¬ 
sive solemnity. In a moment all eyes, of officers, sailors, prisoners, 
soldiers, were fastened on my face ;—if they read anything but 
scorn, —then my face belied my heart. 

So it runs—I am to spend certain years, then, among the gum-trees 
in grim solitude—utter solitude, for I cannot bear to think of bring¬ 
ing out my poor wife to those regions of outer darkness, or rearing 
up my boys in that island of the unblessed : I will be lonely, with a 
solitude that Zimmermann never dreamed of, lonelier than “ a corpse 
within its shroud ”—for I must make to myself, as it were, a shell to 
walk in, and present porcupine quills on all sides to the beings in 
human shape who will there flit around me—for that is a land where 
men are transformed into brutes—“ let a man be what he will when 
he goes there, a man’s heart is taken away from him, and there is 
given to him the heart of a beast.” And of the whole population of 
Y. D. Land, more than three-fourths are convicts, or emancipated 
convicts, or the children of convicts, begotten in felony, and brought 
up in the feeling that their hand must be against every man, as every 
man’s hand is against them. Oh ! I descend into the realms of Dis— 
my ears hettr already the rushing of Cocytus flood, and the wailing of 
damned spirits thereon. Be strong now, and be calm and humble 
withal, oh! my soul. Let what tincture of philosophy soever I have 
drawn in my eclectic method from Porch, from Garden, from Grove, 
yea from Mount of Olives, too, let all stand by me now. Let me pro¬ 
vide the charm of mild words and demeanor, a demulcent sop for the 
three-headed dog ; but towards the great enemy—the grand govern¬ 
ment necromancer, who keeps those gardens of Hell, let my face be 
as marble, my heart as adamant. So may Almighty God preserve me 
in my human shape, and when my infernal pilgrimage is done, lead 
me forth again to upper air through the gate of Horn. 

But this is mythology— in plain English I will root myself somehow 
in the earth, and daily dig and delve there, holding as little inter¬ 
course as possible with the people around me, butshowiugno pride or 
ill-will to them ,—only to the “ Government,” and so pass through 
this ordeal as quietly and gallantly as I may. 


232 


JAIL JOUliNAL. 


15th. —I have seen some English papers: this Cape affair has caused 
wonderful excitement and indignation : a horrid insult has been offered 
to the Supreme Majesty of England—not to speak of the savage 
inhumanity of refusing victuals to the public services and to the poor 
sea-beaten convicts. England does not, of course, charge herself with 
all this; yet she, or her government, is the only party guilty of inhu¬ 
manity, and of treachery (which is worse), in attempting to run such 
a cargo as this : all the consequences resulted necessarily from that 
villainy. And the colonists are not only justified in refusing pro¬ 
visions to the servants and soldiers of such a government, but would 
have been well justified in cutting all their throats. 

I can find in these papers hardly anything relating to Ireland. 
Ireland, I do fear, is too quiet. The “ government ” papers speak of 
that country now as a piece of absolute property that has fallen in to 
them, and as to which they have only to consider how best it is to be 
turned to their advantage. If the country were not lying a dead 
corpse at their feet, would the Times venture to express itself thus, 
—the worthy Times is commenting on Lord Roden’s dismissal, and 
recounting what painful but needful measures the “ Imperial Govern¬ 
ment” has been taking for Ireland of late.—“Law,” says the 
Times , “ has ridden rough-shod through Ireland : it has been taught 
with bayonets, and interpreted with ruin. Townships levelled 
with the ground, straggling columns of exiles, work-houses multiplied 
and still crowded, express the full determination of the Legislature 
to rescue Ireland from its slovenly old barbarism, and to plant the 
institutions of this more civilized land.” 

Here is the tone in which these most infamous Government scrib¬ 
blers (who do, however, scribble the mind of the Government), pre¬ 
sume to speak of Ireland.—And the clearance devastations arc evi¬ 
dently as determined as ever: and there is no law in the land in 
these days; and the O’Connell-Duffys are preaching Constitutional 
agitation ; and the Orangemen are crying “ To Hell with the Pope,” 
and the Catholic bishops are testifying their loyalty ; and Murder and 
Famine, and Idiocy, are dancing an obscene Carmagnole among the 
corpses. “Of a surety,” exclaimed Don Juan D’Aguila, “Christ 
never died for this people.” 

17th. —There is an urgent hurry here to get the Neptune to sea: 
■the commodore has been kept in the bay for the last four months, 
when he ought to have been cruising in the Mozambique channel, 
because the governor would not let him go while we stayed, and 


REJOICINGS AT CAPETOWN. 


233 


while there was danger of disturbance at tho Cape. He sends a party 
of his sailors now every day to the Neptune, to hasten the storing 
and provisioning: we may probably sail to-morrow. 

There is great rejoicing at Capetown—a reconciliation of parties ; 
moderates and immoderates burying their differences. There are to 
be high public rejoicings, a grand dinner, and illuminations, such as 
South Africa has never yet beheld ; Capetown has for years been 
lighted with gas, and on the night after we have set sail (not before, 
for they would not insult the poor convicts) the southern firmament 
is to be startled by a splendor that will outblaze Fomalhaut and the 
bright star of Ara. I have got the Cape newspapers, with their ad¬ 
vertising columns full of “ the Dinner,” “ the Illuminations,” in large 
capitals. Here are my last extracts from the South African Press— 

“ FUBLIC REJOICINGS. 

“ FIREWORKS 

“ May be had , wholesale or retail , at G. Ashley's. 

“THE ILLUMINATIONS. 

“ Composition candles—Large stock,—which, for the present joyful occasion, will 
be sold at low prices.” 

Lord Grey’s dispatches have been published by the governor : they 
are very long, partly apologetic, and partly expostulatory, altogether 
shuffling. It is quite clear that he expected this resistance, and was 
fully aware both of the existence and extent of the feeling here 
against his measure, but persisted in it, with the hope of overbearing 
everything by government authority and influence. Indeed he never 
denies that he was aware of all the facts in time to prevent the Neptune 
from leaving Bermuda : for he only says they came to his knowledge 
after orders had been given to the Neptune to sail—that is, from Lon¬ 
don, with her other cargo to Bermuda. He is a monstrous rogue. 

3 o’clock in the morning. —I have been walking all night on the 
deck, enjoying a most lovely night, and taking my last look of Africa. 
So the contest is over; and the colonists may now proceed about 
their peaceful business, with no worse enemies to disquiet them than 
the Kaffirs and the panthers. May their vineyards and corn-fields be 
fruitful to them while the sun visits Capricorn! Long may they sleep 
in peace, without bolt or lock on their hospitable doors! and travel 
over kloof and karroo with the bullock-whip for their sufficient weapon! 
Most heartily I congratulate the Cape on the fearful importation she 
has escaped. 

I watched the sun set behind the hills ; and his last purple gleams 


234 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


blushing on the peaks of distant mountains, turning every splintered 
cliff into a perfect amethyst. And well I know within the foldings 
of those amethystine ridges lie many emerald vales ; and to the good 
people who dwell there, the feet of those who carry this day’s tidings 
will be beautiful upon the mountains. Morning will dawn to-morrow 
on the proudest day South Africa has yet beheld. 

“Adieu ! the Orient glimmers afar, 

And the Morning Star- 
Anon will rise over Madagascar brightly.” 

[I wonder whether the Cape knows Freiligrath’s glorious Cape 
ballad.] 

Good-night, Africa! 

19^/i.—We sail this day : the wind full against us, blowing straight 
up the bay: no matter—the commodore has sent the Geyser war- 
steamer to tow us out. We have got the hawser fixed, and are 
moving slowly out of Simon’s Bay, and down the broad expanse of 
False Bay. The mountains are fading behind us. Another continent 
has arisen from the sea before me, and now Africa vanishes too. 
Shall I ever set foot upon dry land more ? 

April 4th , 1850.—It is more than a month since I made my last 
entry in this dreary log-book. All this time we have been going 
straight before the wind, which is always westerly in this southern 
ocean, along the parallel of 4G° south latitude, and often at the rate 
of 200 miles a day. They say we are nearing Van Diemen’s Land. 

I have been very ill all the time ; and grow worse. Seafaring has 
become a horror to me ; for it is more than eleven months since I 
came on board this ship of evil omen, “ rigged with curses,” freighted 
with hell—and I long to touch some shore, were it even the new 
Jerusalem where there shall be no more sea. The mob of prisoners 
on board, as I look down over them from my solitary walk on the 
poop, seem in high spirits, at the thought of being all landed free, 
in a magnificent new country, where the climate is matchless, and 
labor is highly paid. They look at me with a sort of respectful 
pity ; and doubtless think my crimes must have been enormously 
villainous indeed to merit the distinguished consideration of being 
singly excepted from their universal emancipation. 

6th .—The mountainous southern coast of Van Diemen’s Land! It 
is a soft blue day; soft airs laden with all the fragrances of those 


235 


COAST OF VAN DIEMEN’S LAND. 

antarctic woods, weave an atmosphere of ambrosia round me. As we 
coast along over the placid waters, passing promontory after 
promontory, wooded to the water’s edge, and “ glassing their ancient 
glories in the flood,” both sea and land seem to bask and rejoice in 
the sunshine. Old Ocean smiles—that multitudinous rippling laugh 
seen in vision by the chained Prometheus. Even my own sick and 
weary soul (so kind and bounteous is our mother Earth) feels light¬ 
ened, refreshed, uplifted. Yet there, to port, loom the mountains, 
whereunto I am to be chained for years, with a vulture gnawing my 
heart. Here is the very place : the Kaf, or Caucasus where I must 
die a daily death, and make a nightly descent into hell! 

It must have been on these mountains (tt erpaig vtp7]XoKp?/,uvoic) 
that Strength and Force bound the victim Demigod—for did not 
Kratos say unto Hephaistos, u We have come now to the utmost 
verge of the earth?” Where was that, but at the antipodes?—how¬ 
ever, the limited geographical knowledge of the poet was unequal to 
his inspiration. Would that I had committed the godlike crime, and 
gathered fire from those empyrean urns whence the stars draw light 
—then might I hope to possess the godlike strength also of the 
Titan crucified! Oh! Divine iEther! and ye swift-winged Winds! 
ye gushing River-fountains! and thou boundless, endless, multitu¬ 
dinous Chorus-Laugh of Ocean -waves! Oh! Earth, mother of 

all things! and world-seeing circuit of the Sun !-No answer; 

but, enter convict-servant with a mockery of dinner. Eating or 
sleeping is not for me these three days past ; partly from severe ill¬ 
ness, partly from the excited expectation of once more, at the end of 
two years, seeing the face of a friend. There, amongst or behind 
those shaggy mountains, wander Martin, O’Brien, Meagher, each 
alone in his forest-dungeon. Surely I shall contrive some means of 
meeting them once. 

This evening we entered the inlet known as D’Entrecasteaux’ 
Channel, which runs up about twenty-five miles on the west side of 
Bruni Island, and divides it from the mainland of Tasmania. On 
the east side of Bruni spreads out Storm Bay, the ordinary approach 
to Hobart-town harbor ; but this channel adjoins Storm Bay at the 
northern extremity of Bruni; from whence a wide estuary runs 
many miles farther inland. We are becalmed in the channel ; but 
can see the huge mass of Mount Wellington, ending to the eastward 
in steep cliffs. In the valley at the foot of those cliffs, as they tell me, 
bosomed in soft green hills, bowered in shady gardens, with its feet 



236 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


kissed by the blue ripples of the Derwent—lies that metropolis of 
murderers, and university of burglary and all subter-human 
abomination, Hobart-town. 

But as we lie here becalmed, between lonely w r ooded hills, the 
land seems virgin yet, as when La Perouse sailed up the same 
chanuel of old, startling the natives from their kangaroo flesh-pots 
on the shore. These woods are all of evergreen trees ; and even 
from the deck I can see the long streamers of bark peeling off their 
trunks and festooned from branch to branch ; for all this tribe, the 
Eucalypti , shed not their leaves but their bark. The trees seem 
almost all of great height; but on the whole the forest looks poor 
and ragged, because the boughs and branches are so conspicuous in 
their nakedness ; and the foliage is thin compared with the bulk of 
the trunks. This is certainly the first impression made on an eye 
accustomed to the umbrageous masses of beech and sycamore that 
build up the cathedral arches and aisles of our European woodlands. 

But I can scarcely believe that I am verily to set my foot upon 
dry land again. 

1th .—We made our way this morning to the head of D’Entre¬ 
casteaux’ Channel, where it communicates by a narrow passage with 
the great Storm Bay—took a pilot on board at this passage.—a little 
dark man at whom I gazed as narrowly and curiously as ever did 
Abel Jans Tasman at the first Australasian savages he saw’, or they at 
Abel. But indeed our little pilot was a mere Carthaginian in tweed 
pantaloons and round jacket ; and he came down to his boat from a 
neat white cottage on a hill, with a green-sward lawn sloping from 
its door to the boat-pier, and some sweet-briar hedges protecting and 
adorning its garden. 

2 o’clock, afternoon .—We are at anchor in the Derwent, a quarter 
of a mile from the quays and custom-house of Hobart Town. "Why 
should I write down, here again, what I see, what everybody sees, at 
every sea-port? The town slopes from the river to the hills precisely 
like any other town. Several church steeples, of course ; a small 
battery on a point; a windmill on a height; merchants’ stores along 
the quays 5 wagons carrying merchandise hither and thither ; and 
the wagons have wheels ; and the horses are quadrupedal and solid- 
ungular. A good many ships lie in the harbor; and one Cartha¬ 
ginian frigate, the “ Maeander.” 

Our bold captain, and surgeon-superintendent have dressed them¬ 
selves (and the latter in sword and epaulettes looks grand enough), 


w 


HOBART-TOWN HARBOR. 237 

to await the official persons ; the official persons ashore, with that 
deliberate dignity which becomes their high position, move slowly, 
and in their several convict bureaus prepare their stationery and 
tape, that they may board us in due form. So I have time to dwell 
upon, to appropriate and assimilate, one of the loveliest scenes in all 
the world. The harbor is the broad estuary of the river Derwent. 
The town lies on the western side, backed by gardens and villas, ris¬ 
ing on the slope of wooded hills and ravines, which all lose them¬ 
selves in the vast gloomy mass of Mount Wellington. On the eastern 
side, which seems nearly uninhabited, there are low hills covered 
with wood ; and directing the eye up the river-valley, I see nothing 
but a succession of hill and forest till blue mountains shut up the 
view. I long to walk the woods, and leave behind me the sight and 
sound of the weariful sea. 

8th .—Official persons on board, with their stationery and tape— 
also police constables. I know not what forms and ceremonies are 
going forward ; because I stay close in my cabin ; but I hear a call¬ 
ing of roll; and the prisoners, with washed faces, are walking aft one 
by one. The doctor tells me nothing will be known about me and 
my destination till to-morrow. The special dispatch, regarding me, 
has gone of course to the governor, one Sir William Denison; but 
that potentate is on a hunting party, and may not be in town even 
to-morrow. Meanwhile the real convicts on board are said to be in 
high glee : they are to land free : and a proposal has come out to tho 
ship, inviting twelve of the most powerful men to take service as 
constables on the island. Doctor Gibson, our superintendent, who 
has been here before, and knows the ways of the place, informs me 
that almost all the petty constables on the island, and even some of 
the chief-constables, are convicts 5 and farther that the most desperate 
villains are actually selected for the office. “ A dozen of our worst Nep¬ 
tune ruffians,’-’ said the doctor, “ you will see in a few days dressed in 
blue, armed with carbines, and placed in a position to predominate 
over you , and your friends who have arrived here before you.” 

Dr. Gibson, however, says he believes (whether he has reason to 
believe it I know not), that the instructions are to treat me with some 
consideration : and he promises that he will go ashore to-morrow, and 
if he finds I am to be assigned a residence in some of the interior 
police-districts, he is to use his influence to induce the governor, on 
account of my shattered health, to let me live along with John Mar¬ 
tin. Some Hobart-town newspapers have come on board. O’Brien 


238 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


is still in very close confinement in an island off the east coast, called 
Maria Island, a rugged and desolate territory, about twelve miles in 
length; where the jailers keep one of their main strongholds. He 
has refused to accept their “ ticket-of-leave ” on the terms of giving 
them his parole not to escape "while he holds it 5 and the convict- 
authorities are much irritated by his determination. They use him 
hardly enough ; and his health is failing. 

By the advertisements I see there are no fewer than five ships at 
present laid on for California from the two ports, Hobart-town south, 
and Launceston, north. There is now a brisk trade between Van 
Diemen’s Land and San Francisco: apples, onions and potatoes, being 
the chief articles of export from this island. Along with these speci¬ 
mens of the vegetable kingdom, however, the Californians must be 
receiving from Van Diemen’s Land assortments of the choicest and 
rarest scoundrelism in all creation. Emancipated convicts, also, have 
the “ sacred hungering for gold.” 

Evening .—An official person was brought to my cabin-door half 
an hour ago, by the doctor, and introduced to me by the name of 

Emmett. -A convict official by the name of Emmett! He handed 

me a communication from an individual styled “ Comptroller Gene¬ 
ral,” informing me that instructions had been received from the Sec¬ 
retary of State, to allow me to reside at large in any one of the 
police-districts I might select (except those already used as the 
dungeons of my friends)—subject to no restriction, save the necessity 
of reporting myself to the district police-magistrate once a month. 
This condition of existence is, I find, called “ Ticket-of-leavc.” I may 
accept it or not, as I think proper ; or, having accepted, I may at any 
time resign it: but first of all, I must give my promise that so long as 
I hold the said “ ticket,” I shall not escape from the colony. 

O’Brien, as I said, has refused to give this promise ; but Martin, 
Meagher, O’Doherty and the rest have done so. Some of them, as I 
hear, speak of surrendering their “comparative liberty,” and, of 
course, withdrawing their promise, so soon as their health shall have 
been re-established by a few month’s wandering in the bush. I decide 
to do as the majority of my friends have done, especially as Dr. Gib¬ 
son informs me that the close confinement of Maria Island v^ould 
probably kill me at once. He seems, indeed, most anxious to get me 
ashore ; and takes credit for bringing me so far alive, after my ten 
months’ solitary confinement in Bermuda, and eleven months and 
seventeen days cruising in the “ Neptune.” 



HISTORY OF IIORART-TOWN. 


239 


Wrote a note to the “ Comptroller General,” and placed it in the 
hands of Emmett, informing him that I would promise not to escape 
so long as I should enjoy the “ comparative liberty ” of the ticket: 
and, on his suggestion and the doctor’s, I wrote another note, telling 
the authorities V was very ill, had been ill for many months, and was 
utterly unfit to be sent off by myself, to one of the remote districts, 
amongst entire strangers. The doctor is to back this with his profes¬ 
sional authority ; and he and Emmett say the governor will be sure 
to allow me to go up to a place called Bothwell, where John Martin 
vegetates. So Emmett left me. He says he is related to the family 
of-; but no, the man is an impostor. 

Hobart-town has quite an imposing appearance from the water, 
standing out against its grand mountain background. Why should 
not I write a minute account of the town this evening, as I have 
leisure, and no prepossessions or narrow personal observations to dis¬ 
tract me ? Sterne gave to the world a valuable directory of Calais, 
upon that principle. 

Hobart-toivn, Hobartia , Hobarton. Coat of arms, a fleece, and a 
kangaroo with its pocket picked : and the legend Sic fortis Hobartia 
crevit: namely, by fleecing and picking pockets. This town, if we 
may trust its archives, the authority of which I sec no reason to call 
in question upon the present occasion—was once no more than a small 
village; and, as it boasts at present no less than twenty thousand 
inhabitants, it must have grown up little by little, I suppose, to its 
present size—and so forth. 

To my utter amazement I had a letter to-day from Patrick 
O'Donohoe, who has been permitted to live in the city of Hobart- 
town, informing me that he has established a newspaper called the 
Irish Exile , inclosing me a copy of the last number, and proposing 
that I should join him in the concern. Herein is a marvellous thing. 
How happens it that the convict authorities permit him to conduct a 
paper at all ? Or what would be the use of such a publication here, 
even if he were competent to manage it? The thing is a hideous 
absurdity altogether : but I am glad to learn that none of my friends 
takes anything to do with it ; though I suppose it assumes to be a sort 
of “ organ ” for them. The Irish Exile is beputfing me now most 
outrageously : God preserve me from Organs of Opinion! Have I 
sailed round the terraqueous globe, and dropped in here in a cove of 
the tar South Pacific, to find an - able Editor ” mounted stiltwise 
upon phrases tall, and blowing deliberate puffs in my face ? Gladly 



240 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


I would bare my brow to all the tornadoes and ouragans of the "West 
Indies, to the black-squalls of the tropics, to the heavy gales of the 
British channel, and the typhoons of the China seas, rather than to 
the flattering flatulence of these mephitic airs. I was tired, indeed, 
of the sea ; but at sea there are, at any rate, no organs of opinion. 
Eurus and Boreas are often rude enough ; but, at least, they blow 
where they list, and pipe not their notes under the censorship of a 
Comptroller General. 

To be sure, one may cite Yirgil against me, with the Comptroller 
General JEolus, and his quos ego .— 

But what of this ? I retire to my cot to-night in a black and 
blaspheming humor ; vilipending both sea and land. 
***** 

12th .—Sitting on the green grass by the bank of a clear, brawling 
stream of fresh water. Trees waving overhead ; the sunshine stream¬ 
ing through their branches, and making a tremulous network of light 
and shade on the ground. It is Bothwell, forty-six miles from Hobart- 
town, from the Neptune, and the sea ; and high among the central 
mountains of Van Diemen’s Land. Opposite sits John Martin, some¬ 
time of Loughorn, smoking placidly, and gazing curiously on me 
with his mild eyes. 


VALLEY OF BOTH WELL. 


241 


CHAPTER XV. 

Valley of Bothwell—The Gum-trees—Balsam in the Forest—Rendezvous at Lake 
Sorel—Snow-Storm in the W'oods—Lake Crescent—Cooper’s Hut—Meeting with 
Meagher and O’Doherty—Evil Plight of Smith O’Brien—The “ Dog’s Head ”— 
Ride to Bothwell. 

April 13£/i, 1850.—The village of Bothwell, where John Martin 
and myself are now privileged by “ licket-of-leave ” to live or to 
vegetate, contains about sixty or seventy houses—has a church where 
clergymen of the Church of England and of Scotland perform service, 
one in the morning and the other in the evening of Sunday—has four 
large public-houses, or hotels, establishments which are much better 
supported on the voluntary system, and have much larger congrega¬ 
tions, than the church—has a post-office, and several carpenters’ and 
blacksmiths’ shops, for the- accommodation of the settlers who live in 
the district; and a police-office and police-barrack, with the Police 
Magistrate of the district predominating there. 

It is situated in a valley about three or four miles in width, and 
twice that in length, at an elevation of 1,300 feet above the sea; 
and is surrounded by rough wooded mountains, rising perhaps 1,000 
feet higher. Through the valley, from north to south, runs the little 
river Clyde, turning two mills. Two miles below Bothwell, the 
Clyde makes a leap of forty-five feet into a profound cauldron 
between high rocks, and thence enters a narrow gorge between lofty 
and rocky banks, where it rushes along with great rapidity, and 
about sixteen miles lower down passes another village with a 
Lanarkshire name, “Hamilton,” from whence it still continues a 
southern course, till it enters the large river Derwent, which collects 
the drainage of all the high central region of the island. This 
particular valley of the Clyde was settled principally by Scotch 
colonists, which accounts for the Lanarkshire names. 

Hamilton, however, is a police-district by itself, and lies out of 

11 


212 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


the bounds of our dungeon. Northward the district of Bothwell 
extends twenty-four miles, to the shores of Lake Crescent and Lake 
Sorel ; and the farther shores of the lakes bound the territories of 
Meagher and O'Doherty. Eastward the district of Bothwell is defined 
by the course of the Jordan, a stream still smaller than the Clyde, 
•which I crossed on my way hither a few days ago, without knowing 
it : for it is always dry except in winter. Westward we reach to the 
large river Shannon, which runs through a lonely wilderness of forest 
and mountain, between lofty banks, and after joining with the Ouse, 
a still more western river, loses itself in the same Derwent. Beyond 
those rivers, lies the almost unexplored region of the island, utterly 
barren and inhospitable, spreading in a great plateau, at an elevation 
of nearly 4,000 feet, to the Western Sea. 

We climbed to-day one of the minor hills, and from the summit 
commanded a vast view of endless mountains, covered with wood, 
closed to the southwest by a great range already covered with snow, 
though it is still warm autumnal weather here. 

The trees are almost all of one or other of the gum species; lofty 
and vast, but not umbrageous, for the foliage is meagre, and but ill 
clothes the huge limbs. In some of the valleys, however, there is 
more richness of foliage ; and along the river’s bank, the gum-trees 
are chiefly of the sort called black gum, which makes a grand leafy 
head, almost as massive as the European beech or sycamore. On the 
slopes of some of the hills are great thickets of mimosa, called 
by the colonists, the wattle-gum, a most graceful evergreen tree, but 
stripped at this season of its splendid gold-hued blossoms. The air 
is laden with the fragrance of these gum-trees ; and illuminated by 
the flight of parrots of most glowing and radiant plumage, that go 
flashing through the arches of the forest like winged gems. 

I grow stronger every day. And whether it be the elastic and 
balmy air of these mountain-woods that sends the tide of life cours¬ 
ing somewhat warmer through my veins,—or unwonted converse of 
an old friend, that revives the personal identity I had nearly lost— 
or the mere treading once more upon the firm flowery surface of our 
bounteous mother Earth ; after two years tossing on the barren, 
briny ocean—mother Earth breathing vital fragrance for ever, for 
ever swinging the censer of her perfumes from a thousand flowers ; 
for ever singing her eternal melodies in whispering tree-tops and 
murmuring, tinkling, bubbling streams,—certain it is, I feel a kind of 
joy. In vain I try to torment myself into a state of chronic savage 


v 


THE FORESTS. 


243 


indignation : it will not do here. In vain I reflect that “ it is incum¬ 
bent on me diligently to remember ” (as Mr. Gibbon says) how that 
I am, after all, in a real cell, hulk, or dungeon, yet—that these 
ancient mountains with the cloud-shadows flying over their far- 
stretching woodlands, are but Carthaginian prison walls—that the 
bright birds, waving their rainbow wings here before me, are but 
“ ticket-of-leave ” birds, and enjoy only “ comparative liberty 7 — 
in vain,—there is in every soul of man a buoyancy that will not let 
it sink to utter stark despair. Well said the Lady Elcanora— 


“ When the heart is throbbing sorest 
There is balsam in the forest : 

There is balsam in the forest for its pain— 
Said the Lady Eleanora.” 


Moreover, at my side walks Martin ; and pours me out such a 
stream of discourse. The slight sketches or partial glimpses I had 
got in my sea-faring captivity, of the history of our most rueful and 
pitiful rebellion, needed to be filled up: and he has three months 7 
later history of Ireland than I knew. Three ignominious months! 

It seems the three rebels whose dungeon-districts all touch Lake 
Sorel, are in the habit of meeting almost every week at those lakes, 
which is against rule to be sure, but the authorities connive at it— 
thinking probably that no great or immediate harm can accrue to 
the British Empire thereby. And Martin is to guide me tomorrow 
to the rendezvous 5 having written immediately on my arrival to 
the two others, announcing the day of meeting. Martin has a grey 
pony ; O’Doherty and Meagher have each a horse ; and I. having 
none yet of my own, am to hire one from a man in the village. 
This evening I have deluged Martin with talk ; as we sat at our 
wood fire, smoking like two volcanoes. We have lodgings in a neat 
cottage of the village, our hostess being a woman who conducts the 
church-singing on Sundays. She is very attentive to us; and to 
show me she is a person of respectability, she took an early occasion 
of informing me that she “came out free’ 7 —which, in fact, is th" 
patent of Nobility in Van Diemen’s Land. Here, a freeman is a 
king ; and the convict-class is regarded just as the negroes must be 
in South Carolina : which, indeed, is perfectly right. 

I have seen none of the neighboring colonists yet; but John 
Martin tells me that they have almost all called on him, and shown 


244 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


him kind attentions during the five months he spent here alone. I 
feel pretty indifferent to society, however, at least yet. But it is 
agreeable to find that English and Scotch settlers of good character 
and rank refuse to regard us as “ felons.” A piece of contumacy 
indeed against their own government, but a considerable pleasure 
and advantage to us. 

Martin has brought out some books, which, together with my 
small store, make our lodging look literary. Martin is an old brick 
—he has listened to me haranguing to-night with commendable 
attention. So that I trust I have improved his mind. 

To-morrow, we start at eight o’clock in the morning for our 
reunion in a certain shepherd’s hut on Lake Sorel. 

loth .—Lake Sorel. Promontory of the “ Dog’s Head,” or Cynos- 
cephaloe. Yesterday morning dawned cold and gloomy, the first 
morning apparently of their Tasmanian winter. Before we rose it 
had begun to rain violently; and all the sky w r as dark—evidently, 
the day was to be tempestuous: and on the hills round about the 
valley, we could see that it was snow instead of rain that was falling. 
Our landlady and her husband advised us not to move, as we might 
be stopped by floods in the high country; and besides, I was still 
extremely weak and nervous, though improving rapidly. 

We waited until noon : but at noon, as it rained more furiously 
than ever, we resolved to brave it and mount. We set out north¬ 
eastward through the valley, which is perfectly level, sandy, clothed 
with a short, dry, yellowish grass, and sprinkled with trees: after a 
ride of four miles we passed a handsome stone house, with very ex¬ 
tensive outbuildings for convict-laborers and the tradesmen required 
on a sheep-farming estate. It lies nestled at the very root of the 
great Quoin hill; and commands a most extensive view over the 
plain in front and the distant mountains to the south. This is Den- 
nistoun, the residence of Mr. Russell, a Scottish settler, and a good 
friend of Martin’s ; but we rode past without stopping, and through 
a large green paddock surrounded by the stables and workmen’s 
huts; immediately on clearing this, we found ourselves in the wild 
busn, and ascending a gorge of the hill behind. From this point the 
rain began to change into snow, and for many miles we rode on 
^through the blinding tempest, which prevented any special reconnais¬ 
sance of the country. I was only sensible that we were continually 
ascending—that the track was very obscure, and wound amongst dead 
trees and rocks—and that at every mile the forest became more wild, 


RIDE TO LAKE 80REL. 


245 




and more encumbered with naked and fallen trees ; until at last I 
thought the whole world might be challenged to show a scene of such 
utter howling desolation. 

Still we rode on; Martin always saying that when we should be 
half-way to Lake Sorel, we might turn if we liked. Fifteen miles 
from Dennistoun we passed a rough log-fence, and saw before us a 
level plain extending full two miles, partially adorned with majestic 
trees, like some spacious park in Ireland. And though it was bleak 
enough yesterday, with a snow-storm driving and hissing over it, yet 
it was easy to see we had got into a country of a different character. 
In short we had finished the long ascent, and were now on the great 
plateau of these two lakes. We galloped over the plain with the 
snow beating furiously in our faces, and found ourselves on the bank 
of a small river, beyond which seemed to be a tract of very close and 
rugged woodland. “The Clyde again,” said my companion—“we 
are but a quarter of a mile from the point of Lake Crescent whence 
it issues ; but you cannot see the lake through the close bush.” 

We crossed the river by a rough wooden bridge, made by some of 
the settlers for the passage of their flocks when they drive them down 
for the winter to the low country: and then, for four miles farther, we 
had a most savage and difficult region to pass, covered with thick and 
shaggy bush, and very much encumbered with the monstrous ruins 
of ancient trees. No living creature was anywhere visible, but now 
and then a few sheep cowering under the lee side of a honeysuckle- 
tree (for all these regions are parcelled out into sheep-runs)—no sound, 
but the roaring .of the wind, and the groaning and screaming of the 
trees. 

Lake Crescent was now visible on our right; and for three or four 
miles we had no track, or other guidance on our way, save that by 
keeping the lake in sight, on our right hand, we must strike on the 
point where the other lake communicates with it by a short stream. 
And there lay the hut where, I was assured, we should find a human 
being, a hermit named Cooper, who would be sure to give us a mut¬ 
ton chop, and enable us to proceed on our way. 

I had pretended, up to this time, that I was not fatigued, and could 
still ride any distance ; but the weakness produced by my two years’ 
close confinement began now to be visible : my companion encouraged 
me by the assurance that v/e were within two miles of Cooper’s; and 
we now got into open ground again, where we could push our horses 
to a canter. At last, wo found ourselves on a low tract of land about 


246 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


half a mile across, having Lake Crescent still to the right, and the 
great Lake Sorel to the left. This is a ^magnificent sheet of water, 
thirty-five miles in circuit, measured by the sinuosities of the shore, 
varied by some bold promontories, one small wooded island, and a 
fine range of high hills on its northern side. The water looked black, 
and had an angry curl; the snow, which had abated somewhat, came 
down thicker than ever; and at last, to my great contentment, I could 
see a smoke mounting amongst the trees before us. There, upon the 
edge of a marsh, and just at the point where a sluggish winding 
stream leaves Lake Sorel, to carry its surplus waiters to Lake Crescent, 
stood a small hut of round logs, thatched with grass: the first 
human habitation we had seen since we left Dennistoun. 

The sound of our horses’ boofs brought out a man of about forty 
years of age, with a thin, sharp, intelligent face, and hair somewhat 
reddish, dressed in the blue woollen shirt, which is the invariable 
uniform of the shepherds and stock-keepers. He welcomed us with 
great cordiality; and said, at once, that Mr. Meagher and Mr. O’Doher- 
ty were at Townsend’s all day waiting for us. Townsend’s is another 
hut, four miles further on, and situated in the district of Ross, w r hich 
is usually made the place of meeting, because it is a better house and 
has several rooms. On dismounting, however, to sit a little while at 
Cooper’s fire, I found myself too much exhausted to ride any farther : 
so Cooper took one of our horses, and set off to Townsend’s, to ask 
our friends to come to me, seeing I could not go to them. 

“ You just keep the fire up, gentlemen,” said Cooper, as he 
girthed the saddle, “ that I may get the tea and chops ready when I 
come back ; and I’ll engage the other gentlemen will be here in an 
hour or less.” We threw on more wood, and tried to dry our 
clothes. 

It now began to grow dusk, for we had been four hours and a-half 
on the way; and the evening was fast growing dark when we heard 
the gallop of three horses, and a l-oud laugh well known to me. We 
went to the door ; and in a minute Meagher and O’Doherty had 
thrown themselves from their horses; and as we exchanged greetings 
—I know not from what impulse, whether from buoyancy of heart, or 
bizarre perversity of feeling—we all laughed till the woods rang 
around ; laughed loud and long, and uproariously, till two teal rose 
startled from the reeds on the lake-shore, and flew screaming to seek 
a quieter neighborhood. 

I suspect there was something hollow in that laughter, though at 


cooper’s nuT. 


247 


the time it was hearty, vociferous, and spontaneous. But even in 
laughter the heart is sad ; and curses or tears, just then, might have 
become us better. 

Both these exiles looked fresh and vigorous. Kevin O'Doherty I 
had scarcely ever met before ; but he is a fine, erect, noble-looking 
young man, with a face well bronzed by air and exercise. 

After giving the horses each two handfuls of oats, all we had, we 
turned them out to find shelter and grazing as they best coul<L Beside 
the hut is a large inclosure, made by an old post-and-rail fence ; and into 
this, with much compunction, on my part at least, we turned out the 
poor animals. However, such is the usage that horses are accustomed 
to here, where they are seldom stabled, even in winter. Indeed, the 
bush everywhere affords good close shelter for all sorts of animals, 
under the thickets of u wattle-gum,” and the dense dark shade of the 
honeysuckle-tree. Horses also eat the leaves and tender shoots of 
both these trees, when the ground happens to be covered with snow, 
which, even at this height among the mountains, is exceedingly 
rare. 

All this time, while we were employed about our horses, Cooper 
was in the hut broiling mutton-chops, boiling tea in an open tin-can, 
glung over the fire, and cutting the damper into thick slices—mutton, 
tea, and damper being the morning refection, and mutton, damper, 
knd tea being the evening meal in the bush. Damper is merely a 
large flat cake of flour and water, baked in the wood embers on the 
hearth. We sat down upon blocks of gum-tree, and Cooper being 
possessed of but one knife and one fork, we dined primitively 5 but all 
were ravenously hungry, and it seems Cooper is notorious in the lake 
region for the excellence of his chop-cookery. 

Our talk was all of Ireland, and of Richmond and Newgate prisons, 
and of Smith O’Brien ; and it soon made us serious enough. I had 
still very much to learn—though before coming up to Bothwell at all, 
I had met McManus at a wayside inn, and he told me all he knew. 
They have been in Van Diemen’s Land just five months ; and they 
inform me that Smith O’Brien has been during that time subjected to 
most rigorous, capricious, and insolent treatment by the “ Comptroller- 
General ” and his subordinates. His confinement for a while, indeed, 
was as strict as my own had been in Bermuda ; and only the repre¬ 
sentation of the medical officer, that his health was sinking under it, 
compelled them to relax the discipline so far that he is now allowed to 
wander over part of the island at stated times, attended by an armed 


248 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


constable. When he writes to any of the others, or they to him, the 
letters are all opened by the official people ; and so petty has been 
the system of restriction exercised upon him, that they would not, for 
a good while, suffer him to receive his usual supply of cigars, sent to 
him from Hobart-town. To a man all alone, and already goaded 
and stung by outrage and wrong, even such a small privation as this 
may be a serious grievance. The “ Comptroller-General,’ 7 one Hamp¬ 
ton, is specially exasperated against him, because O’Brien could not 
bring himself to show him some of those external marks of respect 
which he is in the habit of exacting from the real convicts: and 
being restrained from using his usual methods of coercion and punish¬ 
ment in our case, scourging, hard labor, and the like, the comptroller 
(who is bound somehow to assert his dignity), strives to conquer and 4 
torture his haughty captive by hourly mortification in detail. I sup¬ 
pose it is the man’s trade ; and we must all live ; but how much better 
it had been for that gallant heart, if he had been shot down at Bal- 
lingarry, or even hanged before the county-jail at Clonmel. 

Our meeting at the Lakes, begun with factitious jollity, soon grew 
dismal enough: and it was still more saddened as we talked of the 
factions of our Irish refugees in America—factions founded princi¬ 
pally on the momentous question, who was the greatest man and 
most glorious hero, of that most inglorious Irish business of ’48 ; and 
each imagines he exalts his own favorite “ martyr 77 by disparaging- 
and pulling down the rest—as if the enemy’s government had not 
pulled us all down, and ridden roughshod over us. It seems that I 
have my faction, and Meagher a still stronger one. If our respect¬ 
ive partisans could but have seen—as w T e discussed this question of 
our own comparative importance—how bitterly and how mournfully 
we two smiled at one another across the gum-tree fire in that log-hut 
amongst the forests of the antipodes, perhaps it might have cooled 
their partisan zeal. 

This morning, when we looked out on the snowy waste, we found 
that all the horses had broken out through the fence into the woods. 
So we sallied out and spent an hour searching for them all over the 
rocky country between the two lakes. At last, in a dense part of the 
forest, we found them cowering under some honeysuckle trees, and 
nibbling the leaves—a sorry breakfast. Drove them in; and after 
partaking of Cooper’s breakfast, we mounted and rode on to the 
“ Dog’s Head.” This is a fine promontory running about a mile out 
into the lake, and fringed all round with noble trees. In a snug covo 


BACK TO BOTHWELL. 


240 


at the northern side of the “ Dog’s Head ” is a stone house inhabited 
by the shepherd in charge of a large flock belonging to a Mr. Clarke, 
the owner of all the eastern shores of the lake. The day became 
beautiful and bright. The snow had all disappeared by twelve 
o’clock, and the lake lay smooth as a mirror. Opposite to us rise 
several rough wooded peaks; and all that side of the lake is said to 
be utterly trackless, and nearly impervious, swarming with “ native 
Devils” and “ native tigers,” two species of hideous beasts of prey about 
the size of sheep-dogs, which at times make great havoc among the 
flocks. We have taken the little boat belonging to this station and 
rowed over to the island, then to another cpiiet bay where there is a 
«andy beach, called by the shepherds the “ diamond beach,” from beau¬ 
tiful little agates and pieces of yellow quartz often found amongst 
the sands. • 

1 8th. —To-day we reluctantly parted, promising to be at the ren¬ 
dezvous again the week after next; and rode our different ways. 
This day, as the snow was gone, and the forests were all glowing in 
the sunshine, 1 w’onderedthe country had seemed desolate to me before. 
We passed along the skirts and nearly under the perpendicular preci¬ 
pices of Table Mountain ; and at last found ourselves on the shoulder 
of Quoin Hill, and looked down over the valley of Bothwell, which 
already seems a sort of home to me. From this point the view is 
wide and magnificent—endless forests and mountains; with small 
bits of clearing here and there, looking like impertinent intrusions " 
upon the primeval solitudes. Two eagles soar majestically above: 
and from far down in the profound umbrage below, rings the clear 
bugle note of the white magpie—a bird which, though it is called 
magpie by the colonists, is of a species wholly unknown in the north¬ 
ern hemisphere. 

So ends my first visit to Lake Sorel: and it has pleased me well, at 
any rate, to find that my friends are all unsubdued. 

The game, I think, is not over yet. 


114- 


250 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Tasmanian Hills—A Scottish Glen in Yan Diemen’s Land—Letter from Smith 
O’Brien—Generosity of the “ British Public ”—Colonists at Home—Irish News¬ 
papers—Conciliation Hall—Irish Factions in New York—Rebels at Church— 4 
Rebels at the Lakes—“ Reformatory Discipline ”—Write for my Family—Visit 
from McManus—The Lakes again—The River Shannon—A Rhapsody of Rivers— 
Clarence Mangan—Sample of Tasmanian Population—Hiatus in the Journal— 
Go to Ilobart-town to receive my Wife. 

Bothwell, April 20th. —Under the guidance of John Knox (as 
O’Doherty insists on naming Martin), I have been exploring the 
district of Bothwell on every side. The hills are all similar in shape 
and structure—all with a gradual slope at one side, and a steep 
“ bluff,” broken sometimes into grand precipices, at the other : and 
herein every hillock resembles the great Table Mountain, or the huge 
ranges of the southwest. Never country was so uniform as this, 
both in structure and in garniture. There is an extensive bed of 
sandstone lying at or near the base of all the hills, worn into caves 
where the edges of it are exposed in the precipitous bluffs. Over this 
there always rests a mass of greenstone, very hard and close-grained, 
which ascends to the summits, and is often formed into rude columnar 
blocks, as in the precipices of Table Mountain. 

We have ridden to a lonely region, known as the “ Blue Hill,” 
being a succession of small hollows lying westward of a high moun¬ 
tain which bounds our valley at one side. Went up to the first 
settler’s place we came to, a rather humble wooden house ; but with 
a large barn and offices near it. John Knox approached the door 
like a man who knew the way, and was received most joyfully by 
the proprietor, one Kenneth McKenzie, an ancient settler, from Ross- 
shire. He brought us in, sent our horses to the stable, introduced 
me to his wife (one of the MacRa’s), a true Gallic woman, of tall 
stature and kindly tongue, who speaks Erse better than English, 


SCOTTISH GLEN IN TASMANIA. 


251 


though thirty years an exile here. She has never been in Hobart- 
town since she passed through it on her arrival, and hardly even in 
our metropolis of Bothwell for many years. Here is a genuine family 
of Tasmanian Highlanders, trying to make a Ross-shire glen under 
the southern constellations. In the parlor stands a spinning-wheel. 
On the wall hangs an ancient and highly-ornamented dirk, which one 
of the girls unsheathed for us, and then sheathed again, in the High¬ 
land manner, by a difficult but graceful movement of the wrist. 
Delicious milk was set before us, such as has frothed in Highland 
quaich since the death of Cineadth Vich Alpine; and as we sat 
round the table, and the tall youths and maidens came in, and were 
addressed by such names as Colin, Jessie, and Kenneth, I could 
almost fancy myself in some brae of Balquhidder. 

24 th .—I was very glad this morning to receive a kind, frank, and 
interesting letter from Smith O’Brien. It is dated “ Darlington 
Probation Station, Maria Island.” He says, of his refusal to give his 
parole (which is the reason of his close confinement on Maria Island), 
“ My determination was formed after full consideration ; and as I had 
resolved to refuse my parole, even in case I should be offered a free 
range over the Australian settlements, you may suppose that I did 
not feel much tempted to abandon that determination, when I found 
that in exchange for the pledge exacted we were offered only a sort 
of mock liberty , in a district about as large as a couple of parishes. 
I do not regret, but on the contrary rejoice, that I refused to give the 
pledge required. My resolution, however, very nearly cost me my 
life. I am persuaded that if the diabolical regulations framed by 
Dr. Hampton [the ‘Comptroller General’], with reference to my 
confinement, under which I was deprived of opportunities of exer¬ 
cise, and even subjected for an unlimited period to absolute silence 
and solitude, had continued to be rigorously enforced, I should long 
before now have been either in my grave, or in a mad-house. Nor 
can I consider my present prospects as very brilliant.” Speaking of 
the behavior used towards me, J. M., he says “ I cannot believe 
that Public Opinion in England, ungenerous as it has been in refer¬ 
ence to Irish patriotism, will tolerate the exceptional vindictiveness 
which the Whig government have displayed in your case, and which 
has denied to you the indulgence granted to the lowest class of felons 
who have undergone sufferings far less acute than those which you 
have sustained. I fully expect, therefore, that you will receive a 


252 


JAIL JO U.KNA L . 


‘ conditional pardon ’ before long,” &c., &c. He has not, I fear, 
accurately estimated how much or how little the generosity of the 
British public can tolerate in the case of an Irish Rebel. Perhaps, if 
he lives long enough, he will have opportunities of judging in that 
matter more correctly. 

His letter came to me sealed with the “ Comptroller General’s ” 
.seal, which imports that it was read by that functionary. Of course 
it makes no allusion to political affairs in Ireland (if there can be said, 
indeed, to be any such thing as.political affairs there), moreover even 
if we had an opportunity of talking together face to face, we should 
be sure to differ widely. He cannot endure my root-and-branch 
Revolutionism ; nor I his moderation. 

But what a ghastly correspondence is this! It is miserable to 
think of that proud soul, striving gallantly to stand—though set in 
a frame gradually weakening and sinking—still to stand, “ like 
Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved,” holding at bay a Comptroller 
General and his whole pack of helldogs. They evidently mean to 
break his spirit, and force him by mere dread of so hideous a death, 
to accept their “ comparative liberty.” Knox and I do heartily wish 
he would yield the point. This confinement is as rigorous and 
humiliating as mine was at Bermuda : and I believe he is more 
sensitive than I. We have sadly smoked the pipe of deliberation 
over this affair (sitting in the bush, at sunset, upon a prostrate gum- 
tree), and find no solution. Yield, or bend, he will not—endure the 
torture long, he cannot. He will die there. On this we mused, with 
little interruption by conversation, save a curse or two, until our 
own “ comparative liberty,” even in these glorious forest-solitudes, 
became irksome, wearisome, loathsome to us. Sunset was bathing 
those gloomy woods of the Blue-hill in a flood cf purple and crimson 
and gold; and the clarion note of the “white magpie” rang clear 
and mellow through the still evening air. For us in vain. We 
wished ourselves in one of the “ Probation Stations ;” and feel that 
the aspect of a surly jailor, and the grating of bolts in our doors, 
would be wholesomer sights and sounds than all the glory and music 
of these evening woods. 

Meantime we are to make up a small parcel of books, which he 
has expressed a wish to have in his dungeon—they must first, how¬ 
ever be subjected to the censorship and criticism of Dr. Hampton ; 
and if he think them inoffensive they will be placed in the hands of 


IRISH FACTIONS IN NEW YORK. 253 

bis ward and pupil. We must also write to him, and try to shake his 
resolution about the parole. Yet, I fear, in vain.* 

Some of the principal settlers in the neighborhood of Bothwell 
have called upon me ; and we have spent some agreeable evenings 
in their houses. They are all large landed proprietors, and have 
myriads of sheep and cattle upon a thousand hills. The convict- 
class, who form the majority of the entire population of the island, 
are strictly tabooed. But by common consent we Irish Rebels are 
excepted from the proscription. It gave me a sort of home-feeling, 
when I found myself, for the first time in two years, seated in the 
pleasant parlor of Ratho, the home of a most amiable and accom¬ 
plished Edinburgh family ; the social tea-table, presided over by one 
of the most graceful and elegant of old ladies; the books, music, 
flowers,—and the gentle converse of high-bred women, could not fail 
to soothe and soften an exasperated soul in any but its very darkest 
hour ; and I walked home to our cottage dreaming, dreaming how 
blessed a privilege it is to have a home. 

Yet I have written to Ireland still dissuading my own household 
from coming out here. 

April 30 th .—Some Irish newspapers. I can hardly bear to look 
into them. But John Knox diligently scans them, with many wry 
faces; and sometimes tells me part of the news. “Conciliation Hall” 
still stands, still spouts, still gathers money, though not much now, 
and still sends up an evil smell into the general nostril. Also another 
small opposition “Conciliation Hall,” named “Irish Alliance.” It 
spouts also, and gathers money ; in humble imitation of its great 
parent on Burgh Quay; and though fresher now than the real old 
Hall, is destined, I think, to decompose and putrify even sooner. In 
America, which swarms with our refugees of ’48, there have been 
pitiful quarrels and even riots ; in which, however, neither O’Gorman 
nor Dillon (now residing in New York) has taken any part whatso¬ 
ever. I do not mean to censure all the parties to these quarrels; 
because I know not the merits or demerits of the questions at issue. 
One of the questions, it is humiliating to me to know, is about the 
relative importance of me, J. M., compared with other “leaders.” 
Nevertheless^ some of those who are named as engaged in these dis¬ 
putes I know to be honest and able men. At this distance, I cannot 

* About five months after this, however, Mr. O’Brien did give his promise; and 
came to reside at New Norfolk; intending, however, to revoke the parole after a 
time. 


254 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


presume to blame them for a course of conduct which may have been 
forced upon them. It is easy for me, here at the antipodes, cut off 
from the whole scene of bustling life as by the shearing scythe of 
Death—with the whole mass of the planet lying between me and my 
former work and life—easy for me, sitting placid under a honeysuckle 
tree, basking in the balmy air of these meadows of Asphodel or Lotus, 
facing the Magellan clouds and stars unknown before, to smoke and 
philosophize with tranquil mind, and to look down upon the petty 
squabbles of mankind with superior smile. This, perhaps, is not well. 
Those, refugees are exiles too—have suffered, as well as we, the demo¬ 
lition of home, and means, and hopes. Moreover, they are still pre¬ 
sent in the scene of our failure ; still stung by the coward taunts of 
our enemies, and feeling the onus on them to do somewhat, to move 
somewhither—a burden which has fallen from our shoulders for the 
present—yes, and no doubt maddened, too, by the poisonous rumors 
and “proeternatural suspicions’ 7 that hover round and haunt the 
ruins of a baffled cause. Ah! we can all meet here, by the margin 
of the smooth lake, and under the greenwood tree, with brow as un¬ 
ruffled as the lake, smile as genial as the riant landscape—but place 
us in the very heart of that mean turmoil; even in the refuge city of 
New York—expose us to the keen daily torture of conscious helpless¬ 
ness, while so much is to do, to the conversation of sinners, the 
canonization of nonsense, and the outrages of a triumphant enemy— 
all together—and then, who knoweth his own heart ? 

April 28 th .—Rebels went to Church, this being Sunday. The post 
of Episcopal clergyman for this district is now vacant—the last in¬ 
cumbent (who was a most mediaeval “Puseyite ”) having been re¬ 
moved in disgrace ; disgrace not for Puseyism, but for swindling. 
The preacher, therefore, upon this day was Mr. Robertson, a Scottish 
Presbyterian divine ; who is a real literary man, has a good collec¬ 
tion of books himself, and has got up a decent village library besides. 

So long had I been absent from religious services of all sorts, that 
I had forgotten the practice of praying for the Queen of England 
and all “ governors,” &c Why this includes Lord Clarendon, and 
the Sheriff of Dublin! One could not rise and leave the church ; 
because we ought to have known this would be done, at a certain 
part of the service, just as the British “ national anthem,” is played 
in Theatres Royal, between play and afterpiece and a man has no 
right to go into a church to disturb the congregation. Therefore, I 
contented myself with cursing as the pastor blessed. 


REFORMATORY DISCIPLINE. 


255 


t t 


1 •) 


30 th .—At the Lakes yesterday and to-day. I ride a horse lent me 
by Mr. Reid, of Ratho : John Knox his grey pony, a half Arab : St. 
Kevin, a beautiful and fiery little black horse ; and Meagher, a brown 
pony. We have had some wild bush-riding, the practice of these 
laking-parties being to ride at furious speed through almost trackless 
woods, and the consequence is sometimes- disastrous. Meanwhile, 
St. Kevin leads us all upon his little black steed : and any shepherd 
who might meet us careering in this dashing style, with laugh and 
jest, might say in his heart—there goes a merry party ! But let not 
the shepherd envy us too much, or be very sure of the joyousness of 
our merriment. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? Dost thou 
know that Black Care mounts behind the horseman? 

Yet this life, in respect it is in the woods, pleases me well. 

We cannot with safety to the flocks, bring dogs with us through 
this country. A dog, of what breed soever, unless very carefully 
educated indeed, will occasionally dart aside to rush amidst a “ mob” 
of sheep (so they term their flocks), and before you can call him off, 
he will have worried a couple or so. We have not, therefore, had a 
kangaroo-hunt yet ; and, indeed, I have seen but one or two 
kangaroos. They are growing scarce ; for although there are very 
few human inhabitants in these parts to persecute them, yet every 
human inhabitant is a shepherd or stock-keeper, with a double- 
barrelled gun and plenty of time on his hands : and then, unluckily 
for the kangaroo, his skin is worth certain shillings in the market, 
and to collect kangaroo and opossum-skins is one of the methods by 
which the rural population here procure money to gamble with, and 
solace their leisure hours with rum. 

“Rural population!” It is almost profane to apply the title to 
these rascals. All the shepherds and stock-keepers, without exception, 
are convicts, many of them thrice-convicted convicts: there is no 
peasantry: very few of them have wives 5 still lew T er families, and 
the fewer the better. The wives are always transported women too, 
shoplifters, prostitutes, pickpockets, and other such sweepings of the 
London pavements. Yet, after all, what a strange animal is Man ! 
the best shepherds in Yan Diemen s land are London thieves, men 
wiio never saw a live sheep before they were transported. And what 
is stranger still, many of them grow rather decent—it would be too 
strong to say honest—by the mere contact with their mother Earth 
here. They are friendly to one another,—hospitable to travellers 
(partly because they thirst for news), and otherwise comport them- 

ci&uxs 


256 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


selves partly like human beings. Yet human they are not. Their 
training has made them subterhuman, prseterhuman ; and the system 
of British 11 reformatory discipline,” has gone as near to making them 
perfect fiends, as human wit can go. One is perpetually reminded 
here of that hideous description of Yan Diemen’s Land, given by a 
person who knew it well :— 11 Let a man be what he will when he 
comes here, the human heart is taken out of him, and there is given 
to him the heart of a beast.” What a blessing to these creatures, 
and to mankind, both in the northern hemisphere and the southern, 
if they had been hanged ! 

Rode down this evening. A storm of rain and sleet. The Tas¬ 
manian winter is approaching. 

July 22.—Have had a serious consultation with John Martin, as 
to whether I should at length allow my wife and family to come out 
to Yan Diemen’s Land. None of our friends, except Mr. O’Brien, 
seems to regard my speedy release as a thing at all probable. I 
may have to live the remaining twelve years of my sentence 
* here, unless some chance arises of effecting an escape honorably. 
To escape otherwise, that is clandestinely, would indeed be easy to 
all of us at any time 5 but that is an idea not to be entertained. 

It is grievous to think of bringing up children in this island ; yet 
by fixing my residence in this remote, thinly-peopled, and pastoral 
district, engaging in some sort of farming and cattle-feeding 
and mingling in the society of the good quiet colonists here, 
we might almost forget, at times, the daily and hourly outrage 
that our enemies put upon us in keeping us here at all; and enjoy 
the glorious health which this matchless climate would be almost 
sure to inoculate our veins withal. Several families,—one especially, 
in which I have grown intimate—expi^tss a strong wish to see my 
family residing with me here : I could devote a good deal of time, 
also, to teaching the children : and, in short, I do so pine for some¬ 
thing resembling a home—something that I could occasionally 
almost fancy a real home—that I have written this day to Newry, in¬ 
viting all my household to the antipodes. Pray God, I have done right. 

Yisit from Terence MacManus. He has ridden up the valley of the 
Derwent and Clyde from New Norfolk to see us by stealth. If dis¬ 
covered outside the bounds prescribed to him, he would be probably 
placed in custody and subjected to some punishment. He came to 
our door in the evening, and sent in his name (Dr. Smith) by the 
little girl. We go up to the Lakes again the day after to-morrow, 


RIVER SHANNON. 


257 


and have induced him to prolong his trip so far along with us, 
though he will then be sixty-five miles from his dungeon ; but the 
temptation of meeting Meagher and St. Kevin, and of seeing an 
actual congregation of five Irish rebels together again (more than 
enough, by law, to make a “riot”), is too strong for him to resist. 
When we shall have drawn together such a power, we hope to be 
strong enough, if not to make a revolution, at least to shoot some 
ducks. The lakes swarm with a very fine kind of duck, the “ black- 
duck,” besides the “ mountain-duck,” a small kind with splendid 
plumage, teal, musk-duck (a very large, but uneatable bird), not to 
mention jet-black swans, which swim either in pairs, or in fleets of 
five or six. 

30th .—MacManus made some days pass pleasantly for us, but he is 
gone home—that is to his dungeon district. We have ridden about 
twelve miles northwest from Bothwell, to see the Shannon. All the 
way, the country, the trees, the hills, have that sameness in figure 
and color which makes the island so uniform—valley and bluff per¬ 
petually repeating its own features, and every wooded hill mir¬ 
roring the wooded hill that stands opposite. On all the road, we 
passed but one house ; a piece of Tudor barbarism in yellow stone, 
lately built by an eccentric settler in the dreariest spot he could 
find within many a league. At last, we arrived at the brink of a 
deep valley, beyond which, on the western side, the hills rose more 
wild and mountainous. The valley spreads just below us into a 
grassy plain, with a few fine “ black gums ” dotting its green floor ; 
and as we descended, we soon heard the murmurous dashing of a 
river hidden yet by the trees. It is the Shannon, a rushing, whirling, 
tumultuous stream that derives its waters from the “ Big Lake,” a 
noble reservoir some thirty miles farther to the northwest, lying 
high on a desolate plateau of Tasmania. It is the greatest lake in 
the island, and is said to measure ninety miles round. Through the 
whole of its course this river runs very rapidly, having a fall of two 
thousand feet in those thirty miles; and like all the other Van 
Diemen’s Land rivers, it is icy cold. 

All my life long I have delighted in rivers, rivulets, rills, fierce 
torrents tearing their rocky beds, gliding dimpled brooks kissing a 
daisied marge. The tinkle, or murmur, or deep-resounding roll, or 
raving roar of running water is of all sounds my ears ever hear now, 
the most homely. Nothing else in this land looks or sounds like 
home. The birds have a foreign tongue : the very trees whispering 


258 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


to the wind, whisper in accents unknown to me; for your gum-tree 
leaves are all hard, horny, polished as the laurel,—be*sides they have 
neither upper nor under side, but are set on with the plane of them 
vertical ; wherefore they can never, never, let breeze pipe or zephyr 
breathe as it will, never can they whisper, quiver, sigh or sing, as do 
the beeches and the sycamores of old Rosstrevor. Yes, all sights 
and sounds of nature are alien and outlandish,—suggestive of the 
Tropic of Capricorn and the Antarctic Circle—save only the sparkle 
and the music of the streams. Well I know the voice of this elo¬ 
quent river: it talks to me, and to the woods and rocks, in the same 
tongue and dialect wherein the Roe discoursed to me, a child 5 in its 
crystalline gush my heart and brain are bathed; and I hear, in its 
plaintive chime, all the blended voices of history, of prophecy, and 
poesy, from the beginning. Not cooler or fresher was the Thra¬ 
cian Hebrus ; not purer were Abana and Pharpar ; not more ancient 
and venerable is Fathet Nilus. Before the quiet flow of the Egyp¬ 
tian river was yet disturbed by the jabber of priests of Meroe—be¬ 
fore the dynasty was yet bred that quaffed the sacred wave of Choas- 
pes, “ the drink of none but kings ”—ere its lordly namesake river, 
in Erin of the Streams,.reflected yet upon its bosom a Pillar Tower, 
or heard the chimes from its Seven Churches, this river was rushing 
through its lonely glen to the Southern sea, was singing its mystic 

song to these primeval woods. 

*■ ? ... 

“ Oh ! Sun-loved River ! wherefore dost thou hum, 

Hum, hum alway thy strange, deep, mystic song 
Unto the rocks and strands ?—for they are dumb, 

And answer nothing as thou (lowest along. 

Why singest so, all hours of night and day? 

Ah! River ! my best River ! thou, I know, art seeking 
Some land where souls have still the gift of speaking 
With Nature in her own old wondrous way ! 

I delight in poets who delight in rivers ; and for this do I love that 
sweet singer, through whose inner ear and brain the gush of his 
native Aufidus for ever streamed and flashed :—bow some perennial 
brook of crystal glimmered for ever through all his day-dreams! how 
he yearned to marry his own immortality with the eternal murmur¬ 
ing hymn of that bright Blandusian fount! Wisely, too, and learn¬ 
edly did Clarence Mangan discourse with the rivers, and attune his 
notes to their wondrous music. How gloriously he interprets the 
German Moerike and his melodious theme !— 


A EIUPSODY OF RIYEES. 


259 


“ What on cold Earth is deep as thou ? Is aught? 

Love is as deep, Love only is as deep : 

Love lavisheth All, yet loseth, lacketh Naught; 

Like thee, too, Love can neither pause nor sleep. 

“ Roll on, thou loving River, thou ! Lift up 

Thy waves, those eyes bright with a riotous laughing ! 

Thou makest me immortal ! I am quaffing 
The wine of rapture from no earthly cup ! ” 

So, too, with Mueller ; he delivers himself and you up to the entrance- 
ment of the Naiad : 

“ There danceth adown the mountain 
The child of a lofty race : 

A Streamlet, fresh from its fountain, 

Hies through the valley apace. 

“ Some fairy hath whispered, ‘ Follow!’ 

And I have obeyed her well: 

I thrid the Blossomy Hollow, 

With my pilgrim staff and shell. 

** On, on, behold me straying. 

And ever beside the stream, 

As I list its murmurous playing, 

And mark how its wavelets gleam. 

“ Can this be the path I intended ? 

Oh ! Sorceress, what shall I say ? 

Thy dazzle and music blended, 

Have wiled my reason away I 

“ No mortal sounds are winging 
Their wonted way along ; 

Oh, no ! some Naiad is singing 
A flattering summer-song! 

“ And loudlier doth she flatter, 

And loudlier, loudlier still”— 

But, behold ! plump into the water, just under the bank, tumbles a 
Platypus , uncouth, amphibious quadruped, with broad duck-bill; and 
shrill from a neighboring gum-tree yells the “ laughing jackass v —a 
noisy bird so named by profane colonists. 


260 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


We are in Australia then! Knox has been sitting on the bank, 
musing with dreamy eyes on the passing waters : but now we awake, 
and see that the dusk is approaching, a dusk that will call forth stars 
which never glassed themselves in the other Shannon. So we mount 
for our “ registered lodgings ” in Bothwell; and reluctantly leave 
that most lovely glen. 

Yes, in Australia, indeed! We overtake, on our track homeward, 
a man and woman—the woman, a hideous and obscene-looking 
creature, with a brandy-bloated face, and a white satin bonnet, 
adorned with artificial flowers. She is a pass-holding servant, just 
discharged from some remote settler’s house, and she is going to 
Hobart-town in custody. The man is a convict-constable : he carries a 
musket on his shoulder, and his blue frock is girt by a belt, on which 
hang and jingle a pair of handcuffs. He knows us, and touches his 
cap as we ride hastily past. 


May 8th, 1850— Bothwell .—For many months I have not jotted 
down a date or incident. Our life here has been uniform and dull; 
and our main object has been to kill thought by violent exercise on 
foot and on horseback. We still go to the Lakes and meet with 
Meagher ; and this is our chiefest pleasure ; but O’Doherty has 
removed to Hobart-town, and has employment in his profession. 

To-morrow, I go, by permission of the gaolers, to Hobart-town 
also, to meet my family, who are due by this time : but I have yet no 
information as to the ship they have sailed in, or whether Hobart- 
town is the port they are bound for. The moment they arrive, then 
back to the bocage of Bothwell! Quod exeat bene ! 



EXCURSION TO BROWN’S RIVER, 


261 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Ride to Brown’s River—Gardens—Flowers of Van Diemen’s Land—Kindly Climate 
—Breeds of Dogs and Horses—Men and Women—A Beauty—St. Kevin—Roman¬ 
tic Residence for Burglars—My Wife arrives at Adelaide—Expected at Laun¬ 
ceston—I go to Launceston—Imprisonment there for 24 Hours—Mr. Gunn— 
Letter to the “ Colonial Times ”—Arrival of my Wife in Hobart-town—Meeting 
at Greenponds—Back to Bothwell. 

May 21st, 1851 — Hobart-town. —An excursion yesterday to 
Brown’s River, with St. Kevin. He borrowed a horse for the occa¬ 
sion. I have here my own Fleur-de-lis (pretty chestnut mare, 
destined for my wife) ; so, after breakfast, I gave myself up impli¬ 
citly into the hands of St. KeVin, and we sallied forth from the town 
in a southerly direction, by the Sandy Bay Road, leading along the 
shore of the estuary. On the right, mountains that form the roots of 
Mount Wellington—on the left, the broad blue Derwent. For some 
miles the road is studded with pretty villas, the country residences 
of some of the wealthy Hobartonians ; and all these have luxurious 
gardens. Gardens, indeed, are a luxury.to which this soil and climate 
afford all facilities and temptations. All the flowers that grow in 
English gardens, and many of those which must in England be pro¬ 
tected by greenhouses, thrive and flourish here with little care; and 
some of the ornamental flowering shrubs, for instance the common 
hawthorn and sweet-briar, which have been brought from Europe by 
the colonists, blossom in Tasmania more richly than at home. There 
is now hardly a settler’s house without hedges of sweet-briar ; and 
they are more uniformly and all over radiant, both summer and 
winter—in summer with roses, in winter with scarlet berries—than I 
ever saw hedges before. Besides the imported European flowers and 
shrubs, there are some very beautiful native trees, generally found 
in deep mountain valleys, which add much to the glory of the 
gardens. But the colonists usually seem to prefer surrounding their 


262 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


new houses with something that will remind them of the old ; so 
that all over the country, round the cottages, instead of the gorgeous 
golden-flowered mimosa, you may see the more lowly, but not less 
golden gorse, called in the north of Ireland whin.- 

No indigenous plant in all Van Diemen’s Land is identical with 
any European plant: even the grass is altogether different—much 
less green and succulent, but far more nutritive to cattle in propor¬ 
tion to its quantity. The best native grass is of a greyish-yellow 
color, and grows in little, short, woolly tufts, which turn almost 
white at the top iii summer; so that wherever one sees a field of 
the true emerald green, he maybe sure it is artificial grass grown 
originally from European seed. The native flowers are abundant, 
and many of them splendid, especially up in the lake country. One 
of them is superb, the Waratah ; but it grows only on the very 
summits of some high and almost inaccessible mountains. The whole 
bush, however, is adorned with a wonderful variety of plants like 
heaths (yet not the true erica:), bearing purple, crimson, scarlet, white, 
or rose-colored bells ; the finest of them all has no bell or visible petals 
at all, but round scarlet berries, about the size of a pea, which cluster 
so thickly on it as nearly to hide its rich dark-green leaves : and the 
savage rocks are sometimes found clothed all over with this imperial 
Tyrian mantle. 

In our wanderings through the woods, John Knox thinks he has 
discovered one European plant—the common flax. Certainly in the 
marshy land, near Lake Sorel, we have plucked stalks of the veri¬ 
table flax, with its blue flower and slender graceful stem, but shorter 
than Irish flax, which, however, maybe imputed to the dryer climate. 
I do not believe this flax is indigenous. There are a thousand ways 
in which grains of flax-seed may have come out here, mixed with corn 
or grass seeds, and cattle have long been grazing, and even some 
oats were formerly grown, at Lake Sorel. 

The genial kindness of this climate towards all sorts of animal and 
vegetable life, is admirable to behold. Twenty years ago, there was 
not a bee in the island. Some settler brought a hive 5 and now the 
land sings with them. It seems the flowers of the fragrant gum and 
mimosa furnish good food for them ; the Tasmanian honey is the best 
in the world : every settler's garden has a long row of bee-hives 
(which, in fact, are nothing but old tea-boxes), and they need no care 
either in winter or summer. One man, here in Bothwell, advertised 
last year for sale, three tons of honey, all produced in his own garden. 


BE BEDS OF ANIMALS — A BEAUTY. 


263 


In this gracious southern air, too, all breeds of dogs grow larger 
and handsomer, in the second dog-generation. Of sheep-dogs there 
are immense numbers ; and instead of the rough and shabby-looking 
colley , the sheep-dog is here a large and handsome dog, with silky, 
glossy long hair. The dogs, also, as well as the horses, are more 
good-humored than at home : young horses, though with quite as high 
spirit, have far less vice ; and that this circumstance is dire to climate 
iheie can be no doubt, for the same difference in temper is very 
observable, in the human race of these parts. Native Tasmanians, 
both men and women, grow up frequently tall, straight, and handsome, 
with a mild expression of countenance, and manners always affable, 
gentle and kindly. They have, however, the same languor that is 
said to characterize all the Creole races of America and the West 
Indies—that soft, luxurious, voluptuous languor which becomes the 
girls rather better than the men. On the whole, our species grows to 
a splendid perfection here ; but the finest specimens of the genus are 
those who have been born in the northern hemisphere, and who came 
hither children. They have both the European stamina, and the 
southern culture in so matchless a clime ; and the result is sometimes 
marvellous. A young lady there is, now in Hobart-town, born in 
France of English parents, and brought out here at three or four 
years of age, upon whom, after Europe had given her all it could, the 
southern stars must have rained their choicest, rarest influences. She 
is a most superb and imperial Beauty, a Beauty proud and puissante , 
whose first overpowering -glance would turn you pale, and stop your 
pulse for a beat or two. One loves to see how far Nature can g.., how 
much Nature can do, giving her the most favorable conditions, 
materials and influences she can ask, and letting her work her very 
best. This woman, I apprehend, is her chef-d'oeuvre —she will never 
beat this : yet it is praiseworthy to be always making the attempt, 
and she ought not to be discouraged—doubtless she will yet turn out 
pretty pieces of workmanship. In the meantime it is one of the fasti 
in any man’s life when his eyes have seen the Most Beautiful ;—and 
the first day of such a vision is a white day in his history. 

But in this kind of rhapsody I must not forget that St. Kevin and I 
are now on horseback, on our way to Brown’s River. On we ride, along 
the skirts of the right-hand hills, on or near the strand of the left- 
hand river ; the road sometimes crossing deep wooded ravines, that 
bring some of Mount Wellington’s thousand rivulets trickling to the 
Derwent. The day is gloriously bright and warm, though in early win- 


264 


JAIL JOUliNAL. 


ter; the trees glittering and shivering with all their polished leaves in 
the sun and wind ; the parrots all awake, chirping, screaming, flashing 
in their ruby and emerald radiance from branch to branch. At six 
miles from Hobart-town, all the suburban boxes and their gardens 
have ceased and vanished ; the metropolis of scoundreldom lies 
behind us ; and so lonely are the forests on our right and the broad 
bay on our left, that St. Kevin thinks himself riding by the shore of 
Lake Sorel, or, peradventure, even dreams he wanders, once again, 

By that lake, whose gloomy shore, 

Skylark never warbled o’er. 

St. Kevin is sometimes gloomy and desponding ; and the mood is on 
him now for a few minutes. There dwells in Ireland—I should have 
known it well, though he had never told me—a dark-eyed lady, a fair 
and gentle lady, with hair like blackest midnight; and in the tangle 
of those silken tresses she has bound my poor friend's soul: round 
the solid hemisphere it has held him, and he drags a lengthening 
chain. The potency of those dark glances, darting like electricity 
through the dull massive planet, shooting through crust and centre, 
strikes him here, and flashes on his day-dream. 

Now we approach the brow of a deep glen, where trees of vast 
height wave their tops far beneath our feet: and the farther side of 
the glen is formed by a promontory that runs out into the bay, with 
steep and rocky sides worn into cliffs and caves—caves floored with 
silvery sand, shell-strewn, such as in European seas would have been 
consecrate of old to some Undine’s love—caves w 7 hither Ligea, if she 
had known the way, might have come to comb her hair 5 and over 
the soft swelling slope of the hill above, embowered so gracefully in 
trees, what building stands? Is that a temple crowning the promon¬ 
tory as the pillared portico crowns Sunium ? Or a villa, carrying 
you back to Bai® ? Damnation! it is a convict “ barrack.” xlnd as 
we follow the winding of the road through that romantic glen, we 
meet parties of miserable wretches harnessed to gravel carts, and 
drawing the same under orders of an overseer. The men are dressed 
in pieballed suits of yellow and grey, and with their hair close cropped, 
their close leathern caps, and hang-dog countenances, wear a most 
evil, rueful, and abominable aspect. They give us a vacant but im¬ 
pudent stare as we ride by. I wish you well, my poor fellows: but 
you ought all to have been hanged long ago! 


\ l ' : / ■ 

MY WIFE ARRIVES AT ADELAIDE. 265 

The next hollow we come to is the valley of Brown’s River : I see 
little in it, not being in the humor. This is a favorite excursion for 
Hobart-town people when they plan a day’s amusement; so that of 
course it has a mean suburban air. The river itself is a very small 
stream ; not so ample as our Bothwell Clyde 5 and the whole valley 
is precisely like every other valley in the country, save that the head 
of it, where the gorge is narrow, and loses itself at last in the gloomy 
mass of Mount Wellington, is on a grand scale. We walked all day 
on the sands and cliffs of the bay shore, dined at the hotel, and rode 
back to town. 

23c? May .—A letter from Adelaide, in South Australia : it is from 
my wife. They have arrived there—my whole household—in the 
ship Condor, from Liverpool, seven in number, including a servant. 
It seems they took passage to Melbourne, in Port Philip, whence 
there is communication twice a week with Van Diemen’s Land, and 
did not know, till after the ship was at sea, that she was to touch first 
at Adelaide, and discharge some cargo there } a business w'hich will 
hold them a full month. My wife is uneasy and impatient, and 
announces to me that she will quit the Condor, and take passage in 
some of the small brigs or schooners plying either to Hobart-town or 
Launceston. So that she may now be at sea on this second voyage. 

25th .—More news from Adelaide. A ship-captain found me out 
to-day at my lodging : told me he commanded the “ Maid of Erin,” 
just arrived from Adelaide—that my family were to have come on 
by his vessel, but thought they would not have sufficient accommoda¬ 
tion in her—that, therefore, they had taken passage in a brigantine, 
bound for Launceston : and, said the captain, “ if you intend to meet 
your lady on her arrival, you had better go over to Launceston at 
once.” No more need be said. I take my seat in the night mail 
coach for Launceston—one hundred and twenty miles off. 

Longford, June 9 th. —Longford is a village on the South Esk, 
twelve miles from Launceston. The brig that bears all my care has 
not yet arrived : and the weather has grown, for the last week, 
furiously tempestuous. Bass’s Straits ai’e formidable in this sort of 
weather ; so that wrecks and disasters are looked for. I am on a 
visit here with an old schoolfellow, a Mr. Pooler, formerly of Armagh, 
who is now an extensive merchant of Tasmania, and has, at Long¬ 
ford, the largest grain-stores in the island. 

For one day and night I was in prison at Launceston ; which fell 
out thus :—having got sudden information at Hobart-Town that my 

12 


2G6 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


family might he looked for at the north side of the island, instead of 
the south, I went to an official person (the Deputy Comptroller), who 
has charge of such matters, told him I must go at once, and was by 
him exhorted to lose no time : the formal documents authorizing my 
change of place would be forwarded by him through the post, so that 
no delay need intervene at Hobart-town, nor any inconvenience 
happen to me at Launceston. I was obliged to the official person tor 
his civility (because he might be uncivil if he liked), and hurried otf 
without a minute’s delay ; travelled all night: arrived at Launceston 
by nine uext morning, and put up at the Cornwall Hotel: walked up 
the hill where stands the signal flag-staff, and awaited all day the 
reports of the signal-master. It was rainy and stormy, nothing 
could come up the Tamar, which is a winding and dangerous estuary, 
forty-five miles long from Launceston to the sea. Next morning, I 
bethought myself that I had better report my presence in Launceston 
to the police-magistrate of the town ; and accordingly proceeded to 
the police-office, which I found crow'ded by the towm’s-people getting 
police business transacted. I wmlkcd in ; asked the clerk if the police 
magistrate of Launceston w r as present. “ Yes, sir,” he said, point¬ 
ing to a tall, elderly, and very ill-favored person who occupied the 
bench, and who now gazed at me with evident curiosity, as to what 
urgent business I could have which might justify me in stopping his 
court-business. When he was pointed out, I said, “ My name is John 
Mitchel. I have come here to tell you that I am now in Launceston ; 
and that I stay at the Cornwall.” 

Mr. Gunn seemed in consternation whenever I mentioned my name 
—because it w'as from Launceston, and from within his jurisdiction, 
that MacManus had happily escaped only a few weeks before. He 
asked me, with some agitation, what my errand w r as in Launceston. 
“ To meet my wife and family, now due, and expected at this port.” 
“Have you had permission to come here?” “ Yes.” “I have had 
no notification of it.” “ Can’t help that.” “ Sir, I tell you I know 
nothing of your being permitted to come here.” “ Sir,” I replied, “ I 
did not come to discuss the matter with you, I came to tell you that 
I am John Mitchel, that I am in Launceston, and that I stay at the 
Cornwall Hotel.” With that I turned and left the office : but I knew 
very well I should hear more of the matter ; for it was now clear to 
me that my polite friend in the Comptroller General’s office must 
have forgotten (in the midst of the queen’s birth-day festivities) to 
forward the needful paper to this old Gunn. 


MT IMPRISONMENT AT LAUNCESTON. 267 

It befel as I expected. An hour after leaving the office I was walk¬ 
ing with the aforesaid Mr. Pooler in Brisbane street ; when a man 
dressed in somewhat gentlemanly style came up, and said, “ I believe, 
sir, you are Mr. Mitchel.” “ Yes.” “ Mr. Gunn has directed me to 
require your attendance in the police-office. I am the Chief-constable 
of Launceston.” “Am I in custody then?” He bowed, and said he 
would show me the way. When we entered the police-office, Mr. 
Gunn was looking very formidable and determined. “ Pray,” he 
said, “have you any written authority to be in Launceston?” “No.” 
“ Then, Davis (the chief constable), make out the examinations.” 
“ Now, sir,” he said to me, “ I shall teach you to pay proper respect 
to a magistrate on the bench. When you came into this office, an 
hour ago, your deportment was exceedingly incorrect: it was 
haughty, sir ; it w r as contemptuous, sir ; it was insolent, sir. Davis, 
have you that examination ready ?” I asked him what he was going 
to do with me. “ Send you to jail, sir.” “ Yery well, I suppose you 
have the power to do so ; my behavior may have been contemptuous ; 
but I did not intend, whatever I may have felt, to let it appear in 
my manner.” “ Davis, read the examination.” The document was 
read. It bore that I, a prisoner, holding a “ ticket-of-leave,” had 
come from my registered residence—namely, Bothwell, to Launceston, 
without a passport ; and after two or three questions asked of the 
police, I was brought off by three constables, and thrust into Laun¬ 
ceston jail. 

A special express messenger was at the same time dispatched to' 
Ilobart-town, inquiring what was to be done with me. 

The police magistrate, I suppose, could not have acted otherwise; 
a want of papers and passports is certainly suspicious ; and contempt¬ 
uous behavior irritating to the magisterial mind; at any rate, the 
affair was wholly indifferent to me, but for one circumstance—my 
wife might arrive that very day ; and our first meeting, after nearly 
three years’ separation, might be as our parting had been, in a British 
dungeon. But for this chance I would have considered my imprison¬ 
ment a wholesome and tonic mental medicine. There is danger of 
our growing too soft, good humored, and balmy, in our present bush 
life, breathing an air so luxurious, and seeing the face of no present 
jailer ; therefore to hear the wards occasionally grating in a British 
lock I regard as a salutary stimulant; and think of taking a course 
of it once a year while I remain in captivity. 

After spending twenty-four hours in jail, however, during which 


268 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


time the good-natured jailer, knowing how the case stood, gave me 
very considerate usage,-1 was released. The official person in Hobart- 
town had only missed a post, or, I believe, two posts—for the birth¬ 
day gala was overwhelming—and then had sent forward the needful 
documents. 

When I returned to my hotel, I found that my friend Mr. Pooler 
had, without my knowledge, obtained leave for me to visit him at 
Longford ; and accordingly here I am for the last week. 

When the circumstances of my arrest came to be known, some of 
the newspapers commented severely on the harshness of the treatment 
used towards me ; and particularly the Colonial Times, a well-con¬ 
ducted Hobart-town paper, which warmly urged that meetings should 
be held, and petitions adopted by all the colonists, both of Van Die¬ 
men’s Land and Australia, praying for the “ pardon ” of all those 
gentlemen known as the “ Irish State Prisoners.” When I saw the 
article this morning, I immediately wrote a short letter to the Times, 
commencing thus—I suppose it will be accounted another act of 
“ contempt,” and may bring on me severe penalties : 

“ TO THE EDITOR OF THE COLONIAL TIMES. 

Launceston, 9th June, 1851. 

“ Sir—I have just seen a paragraph in your journal, commenting 
on the short interruption of my ‘comparative liberty’ which has 
occurred at this place. For the kind feeling which prompted your 
remarks, accept my thanks ; but as to your suggestion that the inha¬ 
bitants of the Australian colonies should petition the Queen of Eng¬ 
land to pardon the Irish State Prisoners, I must take the * comparative 
liberty ’ of requesting, in case of such a petition being made, that 
my name may be excepted from the prayer of it. I have no idea of 
begging pardon, or of permitting any one to beg pardon for me, if I 
can help it. 

“ In arresting me, I presume the worthy police-magistrate did no 
more than his duty : perhaps even less than his duty. I do not, in¬ 
deed, know what may be the duties of British official persons; and 
not having the honor to be a British subject, do not study to inform 
myself; but I am inclined to conjecture that it was his duty, on this 
occasion, to put me in chains. My misconduct, it seems, was very 
glaring; making such haste to coine to Launceston that I arrived 
here before the official notification of my journey had reached Mr. 


EETtTRN TO BOTH WELL. 


269 


Gunn’s hands. If he erred in this matter, through excessive lenity, 
and urbanity, I trust it will not be remembered to his hurt.” &c. 

18/A. After nine days more, spent uneasily in waiting at Long¬ 
ford, I had a letter from St. Kevin to-day, informing me that the 
brig “ Union ” had arrived in Hobart-town, carrying my expected 
consignment, all well. Have written to insure their meeting me at 
Greenponds, being the point of the public coach road nearest to 
Both well 5 and I set oft for Greenponds by to-morrow night’s coach. 

20th.- Greenponds. —To-day I met my wife and family once more. 
These things cannot be described. To-morrow morning we set off 
through the woods for Bothwell. 

2IsZ. We made a successful journey this day, though the weather 
is snowy and rainy. I hired a spring-cart for the rest of the house¬ 
hold, and myself rode Fleur-de-lis, who has been waiting for this 
journey for the last three weeks at Greenponds. As the cottage, 
where John Knox and I have been living for ten months back, is too 
small for us, is almost unfurnished, and lies six miles from the town¬ 
ship, we have betaken ourselves for the present to the comfortable 
hotel of Mrs. Beech—incomparable cook of kangaroo—in the village 
itself. Knox was waiting for us ; and we spent such an evening as 
seldom falls to the lot of captives. 

Bothwell, after six weeks’ absence, has a wonderfully homelike 
aspect to me, returning to it now with all these materials and appli¬ 
ances of home. Methinks I shall have something like a fireside again. 
Not on any consideration would I go now to take up my abode in any 
other district of the island : here we have pure air, glorious forests, 
lovely rivers, a thinly-peopled pastoral country, and kind friends. 
To-morrow I commence my research for house and farm wherein to 
set up my ticket-of-leave pennies. 


270 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Nant Cottage—Ride to Avoca—Visit to Mr. O’Brien—Vigor of Sir W. Denison— 
“Clemency” ©f Government—Van Diemen’s Land Stage-coaches—Tasmania a 
Bastard England—Van Diemen’s Land Election—Anti-Transportation—The 
Australasian League—Balfe—Policy of the Gaoler Party—Valley of Avoca— 
Meeting with O’Brien—A Day spent with Him—The Priests in Tipperary—His 
Attempt to Escape from Maria Island—Return to Bothwell. 

JYant Cottage , Bothwell, August 2G, 1851.—Here we are es¬ 
tablished,. at last, on a farm of two hundred acres, nearly three miles 
from the village, situated on the Clyde, which runs along the 
eastern end of the land. From the windows we command a noble 
view of the valley stretching about three miles northward to the 
base of the Quoin hill. The land is capital pasture; and I am 
stocking it with sheep and cattle. Four hours every day are de¬ 
voted to the boys’ lessons ; then riding, or roaming the woods 
with the dogs. 

Oct. 13 th .—We set out, my wife and myself, to visit Smith 
O’Brien, who has been staying some months at Avoca, a district in 
the mountains of the northeast. He accepted the “comparative 
liberty ” almost a year ago (of course giving his parole at the same 
time), and resided first at New Norfolk: but wanting some occu¬ 
pation, he removed to the house of Dr. Brock, a settler at Avoca, 
and has undertaken the instruction of his sons. We have not seen 
him for three years and a half; and from Meagher’s description, I 
fear we shall find him much altered. 

In this place I may narrate one of Sir William Denison’s acts of 
vigor. When Mr. O’Brien was about to leave New Norfolk for 
Avoca, he wrote to Martin and me about a fortnight before, to say, 
that as Bothwell and Lake Sorel lay both straight in his way, and as 
this was, in fact, the shortest road to his destination, although there 
are here no regular roads or public conveyances, he would send his 


VIGOR OF SIR W. DENISON. 


271 


trunk round by the mail-coach, and would himself make his way to 
us at Bothwell, spend one or two days here, then ride up to the 
lakes with us to visit Meagher, who would bring him on from thence 
to Campbelltown, which is in Meagher’s district, and from whence 
he could easily get across the country to Avoca. None of us saw 
any objection, or foresaw any interference. On a former occasion, 
MacManus, having the same journey to make, had taken the same 
road without calling forth any remark. And, in fact, the real 
criminals, in passing from one part of the island to another, 
habitually select their own route, and take their own time. 

Of course, we were both delighted with the prospect of seeing 
him, even for a day or two, and mentioned that we expected this 
visit, to our acquaintances at Bothwell, who seemed to look forward 
to it with almost as much pleasure as ourselves. We were to meet 
O’Brien at Hamilton (twenty miles south of Bothwell), and to lead 
a spare horse for him to ride up. But it came to the ears of our 
head gaoler : and, three days before our appointed meeting, the 
police magistrate at New Norfolk received an official order to be 
communicated “ to the prisoner named in the margin ” (O’Brien), 
giving him peremptory command—that on leaving New Norfolk to 
proceed to Avoca, he should quit his then present residence on the 
same day on which he should give notice of his removal at the 
police-office; that then he should repair to Bridgewater, the 
nearest point at which the coach-road from Hobart-town passed by 
his district 5 thence proceed upon his journey by that coach-road, 
diverging neither to the right hand nor to the left,—and that he was 
“ not to loiter by the way.' 1 ' 1 The effect was, to compel him to take a 
circuitous route instead of a straight one ; and all to prevent our 
meeting with our friend. This was the meanest piece of malignity 
of which the old gaoler had yet beeu guilty, and it proves that he 
has the soul of a turnkey. 

Since my family came out, however, I have been distinguished by 
special favor, and almost put on the footing of the real convicts 
holding tickets of leave,—by being permitted to go about from one 
district to another on taking out a “ pass” for that purpose (describ¬ 
ing my height, the color of my eyes, &e.), which I am to exhibit at 
the police-office of any district I may visit. It may be supposed 
that I do not avail myself often of this handsome privilege. But on 
the present occasion, for the sake of making this excursion to 
Avoca, I have regularly taken out the passport. 


272 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


Yesterday, I saw in one of the Van Diemen’s Land papers, an 
extract from some London periodical, in which, as usual, great credit 
is given to the “ government ” for their indulgence and clemency to 
the Irish prisoners. Now, the truth is, the exceptions which are made 
in our case, to the ordinary treatment of real convicts, are all excep¬ 
tions against us. There are three or four thousand ticket-of-leave 
holders on the island 5 who may all live how and where they please 5 
and are only required to report themselves twice a year, not person¬ 
ally. We, on the contrary, are restricted in all our movements, and 
required to report ourselves personally once a month in our respect¬ 
ive police offices. And in addition to all this irritating surveillance, 
they exact our parole ; under the false pretence, I presume, that 
in return for this guarantee, they forbear to set us to work, and to 
hire us out to settlers, like assigned servants. This, I say, is false. 
We would all be glad to be placed to-morrow on the footing of the 
genuine convicts, because we would theu escape instantly ; and the 
governor knows that every colonist on the island would aid us to do 
so. The alternative is not, parole or work—but, parole or death in a 
dungeon— parole , or such custody as I endured at Bermuda, and 
O’Brien at Port Arthur.* 

This morning we set off, my wife and I, on horseback : we had 
twenty-four miles to ride through the woods to Oatlands; where we 
were to take the coach. The horses, Tricolor and Fleur-de-lis, were 
in high order, and devoured the bush. The spring day has been most 
lovely ; and the mimosa is just bursting into bloom, loading the warm 
air wuth a rich fragrance, which an European joyfully recognizes at 
once as a well-remembered perfume. It is precisely the fragrance of 
the Queen of the Meadows, “spilling her spikenard.” At about ten 
miles* distance, we descend into a deep valley, and water our horses 
in the Jordan. Here, as it is the only practicable pass, in this direc- 

* It is with reluctance I publish these passages of my Journal, describing the 
exceptional rigors of our captivity. But I find that even yet, English newspapers 
speak of us as having been the objects of “ clemency ” and indulgence ; and there 
is no harm in letting the facts be known. If the British government had shown us 
“ indulgence and clemency,” I should despise it, inasmuch as the thing we sought 
was not a mild execution of our sentence, but a real trial before our countrymen— 
was, in short, not “ clemency,” but justice. This, I think, was not Uureasonable to 
demand at the hands of a government which professed to be administering and 
vindicating law. But, inasmuch as there was no trial at all; and the execution of 
the false sentence wa3 more atrociously rigorous than any of their real criminals 
undergo, what is to be thought of this British cant about indulgence ? 


TASMANIAN STAGE COACHES. 


273 


tion, between Bothwcll and Oatlands districts, stands a police-station : 
two constables lounge before the door as we pass, and, as usual, the 
sight of them makes us feel once more that the whole wide and glo¬ 
rious forest is, after all, but an umbrageous and highly perfumed dun¬ 
geon. 

Climbing the hill on the other side of the Jordan valley, we are 
once more in the wild bush ; and, in due time, arrive at Oatlands 
Hotel. At one o’clock, up comes the Hobart-town and Launceston 
day-coach, which, in all its appointments, is precisely like what an 
English stage-coach was, before the railroads had swallowed them all 
up. The road is excellent: the horses good ; the coachman and guard 
(prisoners, no doubt), are in manners, dress, and behavior, as like 
untransported English guards and coachmen as it is possible to con¬ 
ceive. The wayside inns we passed are thoroughly British—even, I 
regret to say, to the very brandy they sell therein. The passengers 
all speak with an English accent; the guard, on entering a village, 
performs upon his bugle the last popular negro melody. It is hate¬ 
ful to me, when some urgent occasion requires me to come down from 
our remote pastoral district of Bothwell, to mingle in the unclean 
stream of travellers by this public road. Bothwell, being bounded on 
the west and north by unsubdued forests and desolate mountains, is 
on the way nowhither ; and in its rural quietude one can sometimes 
forget, for a little while, the horrors of this dreadful life. Every sight 
and sound that strikes eye or ear on this mail-road reminds me that I 
am in a small, misshapen, transported, bastard England :—and the 
legitimate England itself is not so dear to me, that I can love the con¬ 
vict copy. 

We rested for the night at the principal hotel in Campbelltown, a 
very elegant house and splendidly furnished, which would be a credit 
to Bray or Kingstown. From hence we are to take a public con¬ 
veyance the day after to-morrow to Avoca, where Mr. O'Brien is to 
meet us. 

—An election is approaching; the first election of representa¬ 
tives under the new Constitution granting to the colony a Legislature 
—one-third nominees of the Crown, and two-thirds elected by the 
people. Of course there is great excitement; everybody being de¬ 
lighted to have another opportunity for mimicry of the “ old country.” 
Walls covered with placarded addresses to the Independent Electors; 
rosettes of blue ribbon, or else of red, fixed to the ears of coach-horses, 
and in the bar-windows of inns; flags flying at the top of high poles, 

12 * 


274 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


expressive of the political predilections of those who sell had spirits 
or brew nauseous beer under the said flags 5 in short, all the mecha¬ 
nical helps and appliances for creating mobs—a thing somewhat diffi¬ 
cult in so sparse a population—and for promoting large consumption 
of drink—a thing not so difficult. 

There is but one political question now existing—the transportation 
system. Most of the decent colonists, having families growing up, 
and feeling the evils of the moral and social atmosphere that sur¬ 
rounds them, and the ignominy of having no country but a penal 
colony, no servants, no laborers, few neighbors even, who are not 
men fairly due to the gallows—ardently desire to use this new Con¬ 
stitution, such as it is, to make vigorous protest against the conti¬ 
nuance of the penal system. The late discovery of gold mines in 
Australia, which tempts multitudes of our Tasmanian ruffians over 
the strait, interests the colony of Port Philip very vehemently in the 
same cause ; and an “ Australasian League ” has been formed, em¬ 
bracing the best colonists of New South Wales, Port Philip, South 
Australia, Van Diemen’s Land, and New Zealand ; with their banner 
of five stars on a blue ground 5 with large funds, able writers at the 
press, and almost all the talent of the Southern hemisphere enlisted 
on their side. This starred banner now flies from many a mast-head 
in the intercolonial traffic, and floats over all anti-transportation 
platforms in Van Diemen’s Land. On the other side, the governor 
at Ilobart-town, and his large gang of highly paid officials, having a 
deep interest in the continuance of Probation-stations, chain-gangs, 
and the like, are using all the resources of patronage, corruption, 
and intimidation, in their power, to get up some presentable body of 
public opinion in their favor: but without brilliant success. The 
governor, however, has his “ Organ,” too—the Hobart-town Adverti¬ 
ser , the proprietor of it being, I am ashamed to say, an Irishman, 
and its principal writer (the head scribbler, indeed, of the party) 
being no other than Balfe, one of the government informers of ’48, 
once an ultra-revolutionary member of the Irish Confederation—but 
now, in reward of some unnameable service, Deputy-Assistant Comp¬ 
troller of Convicts, and Justice of the Peace, with a handsome salary 
and largo grant of land. 

The policy on which the governor and his party rely is almost too 
base and diabolical for belief. It is to represent the anti-trarysporta- 
tion movement as a thing hostile to the prisoner-population and their 
descendants—-instead of being, as it is, the first step towards gradual 


POLICY OF THE GAOLEK-PABTY. 275 

obliteration of the social distinctions (which must for ever subsist 
while the country is an actual jail), and the amalgamation, within a 
generation or two, of all the people ; so would the stream of this 
colonial life begin to run clear ; the pure air of a new country, and 
the blessed influence of our kindly mother earth—for I have strong 
belief in the potency of these material agencies upon human life— 
would absorb the foul elements, and infuse new aud fresh ones, till 
men might safely forget the abominable fountain from whence the 
current flowed at first. Sir William Denison, conscientiously working 
for his “government,” and for his jailer-salary (poor devil!) is 
trying, through every agency at his command, to get up a convict 
esprit du corps: for this purpose, veritable government mobs of 
convicts, organized by convict officials, have actually begun to 
threaten the peace of Hobart-town. The Advertiser , and another 
newspaper (conducted by another Irishman), are their organs. Balfe 
is their literary Coryphoeus : a miscreant called Gray, son to the 
Monaghan murderer of that name, and himself transported for forgery 
and subornation of perjury, is their mob-leader. They are taught to 
call themselves “ the People,” to speak of themselves as a “ class of 
society,” and when duly excited by drink and nonsense exaggerating 
the natural brutality of their manners, and emboldened by the idea 
that they are “ government-men,” and under the special protection 
of his Excellency, these fellows are not a little dangerous to honest 
people. 

Surely, it is no wonder that the decent, free colonists should desire 
to be rid of the system which breeds this misrule. Some of them, 
indeed, for a quiet life, are leaving the country, either for Port Philip 
or England; but most of the residents seem determined to put the 
thing down, and to run all risks and make all sacrifices to do it. The 
main agency on which the colonists rely is, of course, the approaching 
election, at which they hope to return a pledged anti-transportationist 
for every constituency. 

I am reminded of all these things to-day, by the sight of a sort of 
procession passing our hotel windows, to escort the government 
candidate, or transportation candidate, for the district, a Mr. Allison, 
to the village of Ross, where a meeting of his supporters comes off 
this day. One carriage, a drag with four horses, several spring-carts 
and gigs, make up the cortege ; and there is much display of red 
ribbon and British convict enthusiasm. To-morrow the opposite, or 
country party, are to meet at Avoca, so that we shall have an op- 


276 


JAIL JOUENAL, 


portunity of witnessing their proceedings. Their candidate is Mr. 
Kermode, son of one of the richest settlers of the place, a man of 
great zeal and earnestness in the cause, therefore very obnoxious to 
the government; and the election for Campbelltown district is ac¬ 
counted the most critical in the colony. 

October 1 5th, Avoca .—We came to-day, in a spring-cart, twenty- 
one miles, through the wild valley of the South Esk, bounded on the 
north side by a range of mountains overtopped by the tremendous 
precipices of Ben Lomond, a mountain five thousand feet high, and 
therefore much grander than its Scottish godfather. At Avoca itself, 
the South Esk is joined by the St. Paul’s river, and near the angle of 
their junction rises “ St. Paul’s Dome,” a noble round-topped moun¬ 
tain, belted with magnificent timber. These valleys and mountains 
remind me more of scenery in Donegal or Down than any other part 
of Yan Diemen’s Land has done. Our fellow-passengers were going 
to the Avoca meeting; and a gentleman rode alongside with a large 
bundle strapped before him on the saddle, which on close survey I 
discovered to be the five-starred flag of the League, destined to wave 
that day over the independent electors of Avoca. 

We alighted at a decent hotel; and in a few minutes a gentleman 
passed the window, whpm, after nearly four years, we had some diffi¬ 
culty at first in recognizing for William Smith O’Brien. We met him 
at the door as he entered ; and our greeting was silent but warm and 
cordial, although the last of our intercourse in Ireland had been 
somewhat distant. He seems evidently sinking in health : his form 
is hardly so erect, nor his step so stately, his hair is more grizzled, 
and his face bears traces of pain and passion. It is sad to look upon 
this noblest of Irishmen, thrust in here among the off-scourings of 
England’s gaols, with his home desolated, and his hopes ruined, and 
his defeated life falling into the sere and yellow leaf. He is fifty 
years of age, yet has all the high and intense pleasure of youth in 
these majestic hills and woods, softened, indeed, and made pensive by 
sorrow, and haunted by the ghosts of buried hopes. Here is a rare 
and noble sight to see,—a man who cannot be crushed, bowed, or 
broken 5 w ho can stand firm on his own feet against all the tumult 
and tempest of this ruffianly world, with his bold brow fronting tho 
sun like any other Titan, son of Coelus and Terra ; anchored im¬ 
movably upon his own brave heart within; his clear eye and soul 
open as ever to all the melodies and splendors of Earth and Heaven, 
and calmly waiting for the Angel Death. 


THE PltlESTS IN TIPPEEAKY. 


277 


“ For near him lies his grave; hidden from view, 

Not by the flowers of Youth, but by the snows 
Of Age alone.” 

We were at breakfast when he came in ; and that over, he proposed 
a walk, that he might lead us up the glen of the South Esk. We wan¬ 
dered several hours, talking of ’48. He gave me a more minute 
account than I had before heard of his own movements in Tipperary ; 
and attributed his failure, in great part, to the behavior (what shall 
I call it?—the cowardice, the treachery, or the mere priestliness) of the 
priests. Priests hovered round him everywhere : and, on two or 
three occasions, when the people seemed to be gathering in force, 
they came whispering round, and melted off the crowd like a silent 
thaw. He described to me old grey-haired men coming up to him 
with tears streaming down their faces, telling him they would follow 
him so gladly to the world’s end—that they had long been praying 
for that day—and God knows it was not life they valued : but there 
was his reverence, and he said that if they shed blood they would lose 
their immortal souls; and what could they do ? God help them, 
where could they turn ? and on their knees they entreated him to 
forgive them for deserting him. So they slunk home to take care 
of their paltry old souls, and wait for the sheriff’s bailiff to hunt them 
into the poor-house. 

On the whole, O’Brien accepts defeat—takes the desertion or 
backwardness of the people, and the verdict of the Clonmel jury, such 
as it was, for a final pronouncement against armed resistance; and 
therefore regards the cause as lost utterly, and the history of Ireland, 
as a nation, closed and sealed for ever. So do not I. 

He is well aware that he would be released upon making ever so 
trifling a submission; and distinct intimations to that effect have 
reached him indirectly, through members of his own family. He is 
too proud for this; and cannot endure the thought of begging par¬ 
don ; yet, with his views of the meaning and moral of his failure, 
why not ? If I could bring myself to believe, for one minute, that 
the country had really pronounced against us and condemned our 
intended rebellion, and moreover that I had been tried by my country¬ 
men afterwards and found guilty of that attempt—that is to say if 
I believed Queen Victoria to be really the sovereign of Ireland and 
not a foreign tyrant, I would certainly beg her pardon. At least, I 
at present think I should. 

Then he related to me the whole story of his attempted escape 


JAIL JOUIINAL. 


p* 

from Maria Island. It seems lie was allowed to walk over tlie island 
attended by an armed constable ; and sometimes went to a distance 
of five or six miles from the station. When his friends in Hobart- 
town had bargained for the vessel, a small schooner, they contrived 
very secretly to communicate to him what they had done, and to let 
him know that a vessel would appear off a certain point of the island 
about a certain time, and would send a boat ashore, leaving it to him 
to elude or overpower his keeper, so as to be at liberty to jump into 
the boat, and push off. Delays occurred at Hobart-town; and the 
poor prisoner walked daily for several weeks to the same point, 
straining his eager eyes to the southern horizon. He did not know 
that, in the meantime, Ellis, the skipper of that schooner, had gone* 
to Government House, and there had sold him for certain moneys— 
that the jailers on Maria Island itself were in full possession of the 
whole plot; and that every step of his daily walk was duly watched 
and taken note of. 

At last, as he wandered on the shore, and had almost given up all 
hope of the schooner, the schooner hove in sight. To give time for 
her approach he walked into the woods for a space, that he might not 
alarm his guardian constable by his attention to her movements. 
Again he sauntered down towards the point, with apparent careless¬ 
ness, but a beating heart. San Francisco was to be his first destina¬ 
tion ; and beyond that Golden Gate lay the great world, and home 
and children, and an honorable life. The boat was coming, manned 
by three men: and he stepped proudly and resolutely to meet them 
on the shore. To be sure there was, somewhere behind him, one 
miserable constable, with his miserable musket; but he had no doubt 
of being able to dispose of that difficulty, with the assistance of his 
allies the boatmen. 

The boat could not get quite close to the beach, because they had 
run her into a kind of cove where the water was calm and encum¬ 
bered with large tangled weeds. O’Brien, when he reached the 
beach, plunged into the water to prevent delay, and struggled 
through the thick matted sea-weed to the boat. The water was 
deeper than he expected, and when he came to the boat he needed 
the aid of the boatmen to climb over the gunwale. Instead of giving 
him this aid the rascals allowed him to flounder there, and kept 
looking to the shore, where the constable had by this time appeared 
with his musket. The moment he showed himself, the three boatmen 
cried out together, “ We surrender!” and invited him on board ; 


279 


o’brien’s attempt to escape. 

where he instantly took up a hatchet—no doubt provided by the ship 
for that purpose, and stove the boat. 

O’Brien saw he was betrayed, and, on being ordered to move along 
with the constable and boatmen towards the station, he refused to 
stir, hoping, iu fact, by his resistance, to provoke the constable to 
shoot him. However, the three boatmen seized on him, and lifted 
him up from the ground, and carried him wherever the constable 
ordered. 

His custody was thereafter made more rigorous; and he was 
shortly removed from Maria Island to Port Arthur station.* 

So conversing we returned towards our hotel. A large black snake, 
the first I have seen this summer, lay upon our path; and my wife 
would probably have walked over it, but that O’Brien, who saw it 
first, pushed her back, and jumped forward to kill the snake with a 
stall’. It glided away, however, as they will always do if they can, 
amongst some dense tufts of iris, and we could not find it again. 

Oct. 16th .—This morning we were to part. Mr. O'Brien had 
fourteen miles to walk up the St. Paul’s valley 5 and asked us to 
go with him about two miles that he might show us a beautifully 
situated cottage and farm, on the St. Paul’s river, which he advised 
me to rent, for I may now live in any district I please, as independ¬ 
ently as any ticket-of-leave rick-burner in the land. 

We sauntered and lingered as long as we could in that beauteous 
valley. At last it was necessary for us to part, he on his way to Dr. 
Brock’s residence, where he must give certain lessons this evening— 
we, back to Avoca to take the public spring-wagon for Campbelltown. 
We stood and watched him long, as he walked up the valley on his 
lonely way; and I think I have seen few sadder and* few prouder 
sights. Oh! Nice, queen of Carthage, pour thou out upon that 
haughty head all the vials of thy pitiful revenge, heap on that high 
heart all the iguominy that can be imagined, invented, or created by 
thee— and that head bows not, that heart breaks not, blenches not. 

* Ellis, the captain of the schooner, was some months after seized at San 
Francisco, by Mr. McManus and others, brought by night out of his ship, and 
carried into the country to undergo his trial under a tree, whereupon, if found 
guilty, he was destined to swing. McManus set out his indictment; and it proves 
how much Judge Lynch’s method of administering justice in those early days of 
California excelled anything we know of law or justice in Ireland—that Ellis, for 
want of sufficient and satisfactory evidence then producible, was acquitted by that 
midnight court under that convenient and tempting tree. 


280 


JAIL JOURNAL 


Of honor and dishonor, thou, 0! queen, art not the arbiter or judge ; 
and the Parliament, platform, pulpit, press and public, of thy mighty 
People, know nothing about the same. 

We turned slowly away; I with a profound curse, my wife with a 
tear or two,—and came back to Avoca. To-morrow we start for 
Bothwell; and are to take Lake Sorel on.our way, visiting Meagher’s 
fairy cottage. 










<. 






















"■* . 'T.v 

- 










i;, >- 



THE CONNELLS. 


281 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A Family of Irish Colonists—Mrs. Connell and the Bushrangers—Ride up the Moun¬ 
tains Meagher and his Dog—Lake Sorel on the Mountain-top—Visit to Meagher’s 
Cottage—Meagher aids the “ League ’’—Loveliness of Lake Sorel—Tricolor and 
Flem-de-lis Ride to Nant Cottage—’Young Kangaroo—Hiatus in the Journal— 
New Year’s Day, 1S53— Stupor and Torpor of our Life—No Thunder and 
Lightning Kossuth in America—Meagher in America. 

October 1 bth. Pack to-day to the Campbelltown Hotel, where we 
are to spend the night. 

VIth. This morning we took a conveyance, a sort of spring-cart, 
and diove sixteen miles through the valley of the Macquarie river to 
the Sugar-loaf 5 where dwells a worthy Irish family, emigrants of 
thirty-two years ago from the County Cork. Their name is Connell. 
We had promised to visit them on our way back from Avoca ; and 
Mr. Connell had kindly sent for our horses to Oatlands, and has them 
ready for our ride to-morrow up to the lakes. Mr. Connell and his 
wife have had severe hardships in their early days of settlement,—a 
wild forest to tame and convert into green fields,—wilder black 
natives to watch and keep guard against—and wildest convict bush¬ 
rangers to fight sometimes in their own house. Mrs. Connell is a 
thorough Celtic Irishwoman,—has the Munster accent as fresh as if 
she had left Cork last year, and is in short as genuine an Irish Vani- 
tliee , or “ Woman of the House,” as you will find in Ireland at this 
day—perhaps more so ;—for Carthaginian “ civilization ” has been 
closer and more deadly in its embrace amongst the valleys of Munster, 
than it could be amidst the wilds of the Sugar-loaf forests. Most of 
their laborious toil and struggle is over : their farm smiles with green 
cornfields, and their sheep whiten the pastures : their banks are well 
furnished with bees, and Mrs. Connell’s mead is seductive ; the black 
Tasmanians have all disappeared before convict civilization; and 
even the bushrangers are not “ out ” so often these late years. Still 
it is needful that every lonely house should be well supplied with 


282 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


arms: and not many years have gone by since Mrs. Connell performed, 
against these marauders, an achievement memorable in colonial 
story. An armed party of four or five men had taken possession of 
the house in the absence of her husband. Two of them were sta¬ 
tioned outside ; one, in the house kept his gun pointed at the family, 
while the fourth ruffian robbed the premises. Under pretext of 
pointing out some valuables which the robber wanted, Mrs. Connell 
induced him to go into a closet up stairs—locked him up there, 
slipped down hastily and entered the room where the man on guard 
stood,—pinioned him round the arms from behind with a grip like 
death,—then, with the help of the children, disarmed and tied him, and 
immediately securing the doors, began firing out upon the two rascals 
in the yard : they returned two or three shots, and decamped, leaving 
their comrades in the hands of Mrs. Connell : they were hanged of 
course ; and the family of the Sugar-loaf (according to the usage 
of that period), had an additional grant of land allowed them for 
the exploit. 

Oct. 1 8th .—Mounted our horses, and rode straight towards a 
gloomy gorge of the “ Western Tier,” as the colonists name the great 
ridge of mountains that run north and south through Van Diemen’s 
Land : passed some handsome houses, of settlers, on the plain ; and 
at eight miles from the Sugar-loaf found ourselves among the moun¬ 
tains. Our guide, young Connell, now left us ; and we pursued our 
way up a rude track which climbs amongst rocks and huge trees. 
The mimosa soon disappeared ; shortly after the white and blue gum ; 
and at a thousand feet above the plain w T e found ourselves amongst 
lofty, straight and gloomy “ striugy-bark ” trees, a species which 
does not shed its bark like the other Eucalypti, and whose wood is 
very hard, heavy, straight-grained and durable, so that it is much 
used for building and fencing. 

We still ascended, the mountain becoming wilder and steeper at 
every mile, until we were full two thousand feet above the plain of 
Ross. Here, an opening among the trees gave us a view over the 
low country we had left, wide, arid and parched in aspect, with ridge 
after ridge of rugged-looking wooded hills stretching far towards the 
Pacific eastwards. High and grim, to the northeast, towered the 
vast Ben Lomond; and we could trace in the blue distance that 
valley of St. Paul’s, where we had left O’Brien wandering on Ins 
lonely way. We were now almost on the ridge where our track 
crossed the summit of the western range ; we had dismounted, and I 


LAKE SOEEL ON THE MOUNTAIN TOE. 283 

was leading the horses up the remaining steep acclivity, when we 
suddenly saw a man on the track above us ; he had a gun in his 
hand, on his head a cabbage-tree hat, and at his feet an enormous 
dog. When he observed us, he sung out Coo-ee ! the cry with which 
people in the bush make themselves heard at a distance. Coo-ee ! I 
shouted in reply ; when down came bounding dog and man together. 
The man was Meagher, who had walked four miles from his cottage 
to meet us! the dog was Brian, a noble shaggy greyhound, that 
belonged to MacManus, but of which Meagher had now the charge. 

We continued our ascent merrily, and soon knew—though the 
forest was thick all round us—that we had reached the mountain-top, 
by the fresh breeze that blew upon our brows, from the other side. 

And now, how shall I describe the wondrous scene that breaks 
upon us here,—a sight to be seen only in Tasmania, a land where not 
only all the native productions of the country, but the very features 
of nature herself, seem formed on a pattern the reverse of every 
model, form, and law on which the structure of the rest of the globe 
is put together : a land where the mountain-tops are vast lakes, 
where the trees strip off bark instead of leaves, and where the cherry¬ 
stones grow on the outside of the cherries ? 

After climbing full two thousand feet, we stand at one moment 
on the brink of the steep mountain, and behold the plain of 
Ross far below; the next minute, instead of commencing our 
descent into a valley on the other side, we are on the edge of a great 
lake, stretching at least seven miles to the opposite shore, held in 
here by the mere summits of the mountain-range, and brimming to 
the very lips of the cup or crater that contains it. A cutting of 
twenty-five feet in depth would, at this point, send its waters plung¬ 
ing over the mountain to form a new river in the plains of Ross. At 
another part of its shore, to the northwest, a similar canal would 
drain it into the Lake river which flows along the foot of the 
mountains on that side. As it is, the only outlet is through Lake 
Crescent and the Clyde; and so it comes to fertilize the vale of 
Bothwell, and bathe the roots of our trees at Nant Cottage. 

We pass the Dog’s-head promontory, and enter a rough winding 
path cut among the trees, which brings us to a quiet bay, or deep 
curve of the lake, at the head of which, facing one of the most 
glorious scenes of fairy-land, with the clear waters rippling at its 
feet, and a dense forest around and behind it, stands our friend’s 
quiet cottage. A little wooden jetty runs out some yards into the 


284 


J AIL JOURNAL. 


lake ; and at anchor, near the end of the jetty, lies the u Speranza,” 
a new boat built at Hobart-town, and hauled up here, through 
Bothwell, a distance of seventy-five miles, by six bullocks. 

On the veranda we are welcomed by the Lady of this sylvan 
hermitage, give our horses to Tom Egan to be taken care of, and 
spend a pleasant hour, till dinner-time, sauntering on the lake shore. 
After dinner, a sail is proposed. Jack is summoned, an old sailor 
kept here by Meagher to navigate the boat: the stern-sheets are 
spread with opossum skin rugs and shawls ; the American flag is run 
up, and we all sally forth, intending to visit the island, and see how 
the oats and potatoes are thriving. For Meagher means to be a great 
farmer also; and has kept a man on the island, several months, 
ploughing, planting, and sowing. The afternoon, however, proves 
rough 5 the wind is too much ahead, and when a mile or two from 
the shore we give up the trip to the island, and put the boat about. 
She stoops, almost gunwale under, and goes flying and staggering 
home. The afternoon had become raw ; and we enjoyed the sight of 
the wood-fire illuminating the little crimson parlor, and the gaily 
bound books that loaded the shelves. Pleasant evening, of course : 
except when we spoke of Ireland and the miserable debris of her 
puny agitators, which are fast making the name of Irishman a word 
of reproach all the world over. 

We talked much, however, of the Van Piemen’s Land election, and 
of the Australasian League, wherein I find Meagher takes consi¬ 
derable interest. We both sympathize very heartily with the effort 
of the decent colonists to throw off the curse and shame of convictism 
—not that the change, indeed, would at all affect us, Irish exiles, 
who would be quite sure to be kept safe at all events,—but because 
all our worthy friends here feel so great and so just a concern about 
the question, for the sake of the land they have adopted for their 
home and their children’s inheritance. Our interest in the matter is 
also much heightened (at least mine is) by the inevitable satisfaction 
which I needs must feel at every difficulty, every humiliation, of the 
Carthaginian government. For this I enjoyed the Cape of Good 
Hope rebellion ; for this I delight in the fact that these colonists are 
growing accustomed to regard Downing street as a den of conspirators 
and treacherous enemies,—accustomed to look for nothing but false¬ 
hood and insolence from that quarter ; for this I mean to publish 
shortly an account of the anti-convict resistance at the Cape of Good 
Hope, from materials collected on the spot. The Colonial Times 


LOVELINESS OF LAKE SOEEL. 


285 


will be sure to print it for me in consecutive numbers to any length 
I please.* 

Meagher, also, has not been idle in this good cause ; nor is his 
influence small at Ross and Campbelltown. I took up, at Avoca 
Hotel, the “ Address 7 ' to the electors of that district, printed in large 
placards, and brought down there by Mr. Kermode to be posted and 
distributed. A pile of them was lying on the table while the candidate 
addressed his supporters. An expression caught my eye, that led me 
to look farther—the sharp pen of the hermit of the Lake pointed every 
sentence : in every time I recognized “ the fine touch of his claw.” 

19 th. —Tom Egan brought our horses along the shore as far as 
Cooper’s hut, and we had a delightful sail to various points of the 
lake. The air up in these regions seems even purer and more elastic 
than in other parts of the island, the verdure brighter, the foliage 
richer; and as we float here at our ease, we are willing to believe 
that no lake on earth is more beauteous than Sorel. Not so berhymed 
as Windermere is this Antarctic lake : neither does the cockney 
tourist infest its waters, as he infests Loch Lomond or Killarney; 
not so famous in story as Regillus or Thrasymene; in literature, as 
Como or Geneva, is our Lake of the Southern Woods. It flows not 
into its sister Lake Crescent with so grand a rush as Erie flings herself 
upon Ontario ; neither do its echoes ring with a weird minstrelsy, as 
ring, and will ring for ever, the mountain echoes of Katrine and Loch 
Achray. What is worse, there is no fish : not a trout, red and speckled, 
not a perch, pike, or salmon. But, en revanche , see the unbroken 
continent of mighty forest that clasps us round here. On the north 
frowns the peak called “ Cradle Mountain, ” with its grey precipices 
rising out of the rich foliage—one peak merely of the Great Western 
tier, rising not more than a thousand feet from the lake, but almost 
four thousand above the sea. Opposite, and farther off beyond the 
Crescent Lake, rises the grand Table Mountain. No signs of human 
life anywhere. No villas of Elizabethan, of Gothic, or of Grecian 
structure, crown select building-sites along the shore. No boats 
carry parasolled pic-nic parties, under direction of professional guides, 
to the admitted points of attraction, and back at evening to the big 
balconied hotel, where dinner has been ordered at four o’clock. AL 


* Some extracts from the part of this Journal, describing the transactions at the 
Cape, -were accordingly published in seven consecutive numbers of the Colonial 
Times. 


286 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


along that wild sweep of the northern shore, there is a savage and 
utterly trackless wood, through which St. Kevin and the rest of our 
company once made our way on horseback, at much risk of life and 
limb; sometimes plunging through the lake, and again leaping over 
prostrate trees, or pushing by main force through thickets of scrub, 
that almost dragged us from our saddles. One slender curl of smoke 
only we can see all round the shore—it is from a hut on the north¬ 
west, six miles off across the lake, where a solitary shepherd pre¬ 
dominates over a flock that picks up its summer pasture in those 
parts. 

Why should not Lake Sorel also be famous : Where gleams and 
ripples purer, glassier water, mirroring a brighter sky? Where does 
the wild duck find a securer nest than under thy tea-tree fringe, O 
Lake of the south ! And the snow-white swan, that “ on St. Mary’s 
Lake floats double, swan and shadow v —does he float more placidly, 
or fling on the waters a more graceful reflection from his stately neck, 
than thou, jet black, proud-crested, swan of the antarctic forest 
waters ? Some sweet singer shall berhyme thee yet, beautiful Lake 
of the Woods. Tu quoque fontium eris nobilium. Haunted art 
thou now by native devils only ; and pass-holding shepherds whistle 
nigger melodies in thy balmy air : but spirits of the great and good 
who are yet to be bred in this southern hemisphere shall hover over 
thy wooded promontories in the years to come—every bay will have 
its romance (for the blood of man is still red, and pride and passion 
will yet make it burn and tingle until Time shall be no more), and 
the glancing of thy sun-lit, moon-beloved ripples shall flash through 
the dreams of poets yet unborn. 

We near the Bothwell side of. the lake : we drop into the cove 
where stands the lowly log-built hut of Cooper, and the high sun 
warns us that it is time to begin our journey homeward. But I 
never leave the lakes without regret, and never visit them without 
wistfully marking out, in every green nook and sheltered bay we 
pass by, on the Bothwell shore, sites for my own hermitage of gum-tree 
logs, which, in fact, John Knox and I had often been on the very 
point of building. But Bothwell village seems to be our predestined 
home or dungeon, while we tarry in these realms of Hades. 

One charm of the lake country is its elevation ; high above all the 
odious stations, and townships, and the whole world of convictism 
and scoundieldom, we find ourselves, as we float on these aerial 
waters amongst the very mountain peaks, two thousand feet nearer 


RIDE TO NANT COTTAGE. 287 

to tlie stars than the mob of jailers and prisoners that welter and 
wither below. So are we among them, but not of them. We are in 
a higher atmospheric stratum ; and the air we breathe, untainted by 
lungs of lags, is wafted to us from the wine-dark Indian Ocean, or 
the perfumed coral-isles of the sun-bright Pacific. 

We glide now about forty yards down the river which connects 
the two lakes, to the rude bridge where Cooper keeps watch and 
ward. Tricolor paws the ground impatient on the shore, and Fleur- 
de-lis, with her high-bred head aloft, and dilated nostril, seems to 
smell the stable of Nant Cottage. So with kind adieux we part. I 
carry a young kangaroo in a bag (a present to the children 
frqrn the good family at the Sugarloaf), and with this nurs¬ 
ling resting on my arm find it as much as I can do to manage my 
horse. Madame, on Fleur-de-lis, leads the way ; round the western 
horn of Lake Crescent we fly in spanking style ; over the Clyde 
(which straightway hurries down into profound gorges, impervious 
to horses, and we shall see it no more for twenty miles) ; under the 
precipices of Table Mountain, blazing now like furnace walls before 
the westering sun ; still descending, though gradually, for we are 
on the broad-backed ridge, not on the flank of the mountain range, 
and at last draw bridle on the green-sward of the “ three-mile marsh,” 
which, indeed, is no marsh at all, but a lovely three-mile meadow, 
studded with stately trees. Before us now rises the rocky pyramid 
of the Quoin Hill, which presents to this side its precipitous bluff-— 
for there is no Tasmanian hill without its break-neck bluff—and 
seems to taper to a rude peak, inaccessible to anything but the 
eagle. Yet I have seen a young lady of Bothwell, a daring Scottish 
lassie, ride to the very apex of that craggy peak, in derision of a 
gentleman who had done the feat for a bet. 

Another mile, and we have reached the shoulder of the Quoin, 
whence Bothwell valley can be seen like a map all unrolled far below. 
The country seems here to descend suddenly, not presenting any 
uniform sloping escarpment, but broken into a chaos of wooded hills 
and winding glens, all clothed with noble trees, and glowing with 
the golden-blossomed underwood of mimosa. To our right, and far 
below, opens the narrow rocky gorge through which the Clyde 
breaks its way through the mountains ; beyond, stretches vast and 
gloomy the mass of the Blue Hill; and far to the south are peaks of 
the mountains beyond the Derwent, yet covered with snow. 

We have still seven miles farther to ride; but after descending the 


288 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


mountains slowly, there lies before us only the level grassy plain of 
Bothwell, wooded like a vast park, over which our horses career like 
lightning, till they bury their muzzles in the clear waters of the 
Clyde, at the foot of Nant farm. John Knox and all the children are 
walking in the field with the dogs ; they see us from the moment we 
have forded the river 5 they run to meet us with welcoming outcry ; 
and there is joy at Nant over the little kangaroo. 

1853 .—January ls £.—JYant Cottage .—It is long since I have made 
an entry in my log-book. Of literature I am almost sick, and prefer 
farming, and making market of my wool. There is somewhat stupe¬ 
fying to the brain, as well as invigorating to the frame in this genial 
clime and aromatic air. A phenomenon for which I strive to account 
in various modes. One of my theories is the peculiar condition of 
the atmosphere wdth respect to electricity. In all the three years I 
have wasted amongst these hills and woods, there has not been one 
good thunderstorm ; of single peals of rolls of thunder, not more than 
a dozen in three years! and even a silent flash of summer lightning 
as rare as the phenomenon searched for by Diogenes with his lantern! 
How precisely such kind of atmosphere affects human blood and 
nerves and brain I cannot tell; but the fact is certain—there is more 
languor, and less excitability amongst Tasmanians, native or im¬ 
ported, than I have ever witnessed before. They love not walking ; 
and are for ever on horseback: they are incurious, impassive, quies¬ 
cent,—and what is singular, they can drink more strong liquor, with¬ 
out wild drunkenness or other evil effect upon health, than I could have 
conceived possible. We, also, John Knox and I, have eaten narcotic 
lotos here ; and if it has not removed, it has surely softened the sting, 
even of our nostalgia. We, too, have quaffed in these gardens the 
cup of lazy enchantment, mingled for us by the hands of Fata Mor¬ 
gana the Witch : and if we have not forgotten the outer busy world, 
at least the sound of its loud, passionate working, comes to our ear 
from afar off, deadened, softened, almost harmonized, like the roar of 
ocean waves heard in a dream, or murmuring through the spiral 
chambers of a sea-shell. 

Surely it is not good for us to be here. I wish at times to be 
awake; long for a rattling, sky-rending, forest-crashing, earth-shak¬ 
ing thunder-storm, and fancy that the lightning of heaven would 
shoot a sharper life into blood and brain. Lazily and sleepily we 
even look into the papers that bring us periodical news from the 
northern hemisphere—news perhaps four months old ; and how is it 


KOSSUTH IN AMERICA. 


289 


possible for us to feel that keen human interest in transactions whose 
effects may all have been reversed, and their movers and actors all 
dead, long before the sound of them has reached our ears? What 
care we that Louis Napoleon made a felonious coup-d'etat a year 
ago, and fusilladed Paris, and imprisoned and transported better men 
than himsell ? Perhaps he is guillotined by this time, or rusticating 
at Ham again, or gambler in London, or Emperor of France—it will 
be all one, I suppose, in a hundred years. 

Deathly quiet is ail the dreary world—asleep or swooned away 
under, the high-piled, and double-locked and bolted fetters of royal 
and imperial conspirators. Only a few vehement spirits hover over 
and around the dark and silent globe, searching for a spot where the 
dull mass may be touched and informed with vital flame once more. 
For a moment I felt almost awakened when the news came to us that 
Louis Kossuth had left his Turkish retreat, and had sailed first to 
England eventually to America and I read, almost with a sense of 
returning life, the glorious Governor’s impassioned harangues. 
Through the United States the Governor moved like a demigod ; and 
the world once more hung enraptured on the fire-tipped tongue of a 
true orator, discoursing of Justice and Public Law, and Freedom and 
Honor. Put I knew not, as I read, that the Great Republic had already 
detected him for an impostor ; and that the magnificent Magyar had 
sailed for Europe again as Mr. John Smith. 

Perhaps he thinks his Smith surname will save his letters from 
being rummaged in the -British post-office ; but no, Governor Smith, 
you are one of the dangerous classes, and the British Home Secretary 
knows his duty to his god “ Order. v And whither now wilt thou fly, 
O ! Kossuth-Smith ?—to what Powers, on earth, or over or under the 
earth, wilt thou next appeal ? Behold, this world is ruled now by 
Order and Commerce (Commerce, obscenest of earth-spirits, once 
named Mammon, and thought to be a devil), and there is no place 
for thee. What heart can dare now to kindle itself at thy heart of 
fire ? What ear will trust itself to the entrancement of thy tones of 
power? I would, Governor, that thouwert now at Nant Cottage—as 
well here as in any other penal exile—and we would take thee to hunt 
the kangaroo, and put on thy head a cabbage-tree hat, and into thy 
mouth at evening the dreamful pipe of peace ;—we would mount 
thee on a steed of steeds, and sweep with thee through forty miles of 
flo’wery and fragrant forest, per diem, until the nepenthe had steeped 
thy soul; and thine own Hungary and Danube-stream would become 

13 


290 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


to thee as the dim Platonic reminiscences of a life thou hast led in 
some former state of being, before thy latest mother bore thee. 

-A year ago, our comrade Meagher formally withdrew his 

parole ; and then with the assistance of friends, made his escape. He 
is now in America ; and has been generously hailed and welcomed 
there. I have seen some of his speeches and lectures ; and one may 
easily guess that he will keep most of the favor he has won. " There 
is no other change of consequence amongst our friends here. 
O’Dogherty is still at Ilobart-town, acting as resident-surgeon of St. 
Mary’s Hospital; and sometimes he steals up to Bothwell, to visit us 
and breathe some of our high mountain air. 

O’Brien is at New Norfolk again for the last year. His health is 
quite restored. I often hear from him ; and sometimes go down, with 
one of the boys, to see him. Next week, I mean to make such a 
journey ; but in the meantime am busy mowing my hay. 

Now here is my entry for New Year’s day, 1853. Probably I 
shall not jot down another memorandum till next New Year’s day ; 
for this diurnal has gradually changed, first to a hebdomadal, next to 
month’s-mind, and at last to an annual. 



KANGAROO-HUNTING. 


291 


CHAPTER XX. 

A Kangaroo-hunt—Dean and Dart—Incredible Sagacity—Three Kangaroos killed 
—Philosophic Reflections—My Convict Haymakers—Descent into Hell—Letter 
from Devin Reilly—Reilly on the Republicans—His Interview with Kossuth—An 
Intellectual Kalmuck—The Celt lectures the Kalmuck—Reilly and the Democratic 
Review—His Sorrows—His Wife—Senator Douglass, “ spicy to the Core.” 

Bothwell , Jan. 3 d, 1853.—I have not yet, in this veritable record, 
described any of our kangaroo-hunts;—and what is Yan Diemen’s 
Land without a kangaroo-hunt ? Therefore, here goes. 

~ Sometimes, when Sir William Denison comes to the country for 
“ high hunting,” with his aides-de-camp and secretaries, I am told he 
hunts with a pack of beagles, and a great field of horsemen ; but this 
is not our style, nor indeed the usual style. The proper dog for this 
sport is a kind of powerful greyhound bred for the purpose ; and two 
of them are enough. One day, not long ago, John “Knox and I rode 
out with Mr. Reid and his two dogs, one a small thorough-bred grey¬ 
hound, the other a large strong kangaroo-dog, very like what is called 
in England a lurcher, but of finer make and taller stature. We took 
the direction of the Blue-hill, westward, and soon found ourselves in 
a hilly, rocky, desolate and thickly-wooded region, much encumbered 
by dead and prostrate trees, and cut up by hundreds of precipitous 
gullies running in all directions ; and the little hills all, as usual, so 
like to one another, that to fix a landmark is impossible. Save by 
the position of the sun, you cannot tell towards what point of the 
compass you are going. The trees are so dense, also, on the sides of 
all the hills, and the ground is so rough with broken and burned 
stumps, rocks and holes, that fast riding is out of question. 

The dogs kept close to our horses’ feet, as we slowly penetrated 
this wilderness, until at last, from behind a huge decaying log, with 
a shrill chirrup of terror, bounded a kangaroo. In three huge leaps, 
springing on hinder legs and nervous tail, he was out of our sight, 


292 


JAIL JOTJKNAL. 


and away behind the bushes and down the rocky gorge. But from 
the moment his mouselike ears appeared as he rose to his first bound, 
the dogs were on his trail. “ Hold him, Dart!” “ Into him, Dean!” 
(for one of the dogs is named after the mad Dean of St. Patrick’s). 
The hounds also are out of sight in an instant; and we hold in our 
horses, and stand motionless, awaiting the result. In five or ten 
minutes they will have either worried him, or lost him altogether. 
In either case they will come straight back to where they left us; 
and, the moment they appear, we shall know by the expression of their 
countenances whether they have done their business. If the kangaroo 
has got away, they will slink back with drooping ears and penitent 
eyes, and lie down to pant at our feet. If they have slain the enemy, 
they will come bounding through the trees, with their heads high and 
their jaws bloody, and before coming quite up to us, they will turn 
and trot off (looking often behind to see that we are following), and 
so bring us to the spot where he lies dead with his throat cut, and his 
spine broken at the neck. 

We listen, and for a while can hear the crash of the dead branches 
as the dogs rush on—then, occasionally, a short angry bark,—then 
dead silence—and, presently after, the contrite Dean, and shame-faced 
Dart come panting along ; they do not dare to look us in the face, 
for your dog is a reasonable and accountable creature, but approach 
in a zig-gag manner, and lie down on their sides, heaving as if their 
ribs would burst. We do not reproach them—their own failure is 
punishment enough ; and, in fact, in a country like this, if the kangaroo 
can get a rocky descent to make for, with a rough and scrubby place 
at the foot of it, he is almost sure to get clear off, because his spring 
is much longer going down hill, and the rocky incumbered ground 
would cut the dogs to pieces if they put on their full speed. But if 
they can once get the rogue before them, in full view, and on a 
paitially clear and level place, they will be upon him in a few leaps. 
For the actual speed of a kangaroo is by no means equal to that of a 
hare. 

c pi ocecd still farther amongst the hills, and presently another 
11 brush ” breaks cover. Again the dogs disappear in a twinkling. 
We hear a sharp, angry, almost constant barking then there is 
silence, and then from a distance of a quarter of a mile rings the 
loud yell of one of the dogs. They are worrying the enemy ; and by 
that yell we know he does not fall entirely unavenged. We dare not 
mo\ c however in that direction, lest wo should miss the dogs among 


SAGACITY OF KANGAROO DOG. 


293 


the winding gullies, but w T ait impatiently a minute. The dogs come 
up! they assure us it is all right ; but Dean has his face torn open 
from the ear to the muzzle. For when a powerful kangaroo is 
driven to bay, he sets himself against a tree, holds his head back, and 
fights with his long hinder feet, which he raises up before him, like a 
man kicking ; and the long middle toe is armed with a formidable 
claw. 

But now comes an incident that shows the training and pluck of 
one of these fine dogs; for, just as we are moving on to follow the 
dogs to their slaughtered prey, another kangaroo leaps out in full 
view. The dogs, though tired and panting, stretch out again ; but 
Dean, old, lazy, and wounded, after a few springs, gives up, comes 
back, and asks leave to lie down, which, in consideration of his age, 
character, and services, is granted. Dart is far out of sight, and we 
wait for him a quarter of an hour. We listen for his bark, but hear 
nothing save the shriek of a cockatoo, or the bugle-note of a white 
magpie. At last he approaches with slow steps and trailing tail, yet 
with a placid triumph in his eyes. “ He has him,” said Reid ; “ Well 
done, Dart!” “Good Dart!” 

Now, I asked, “ Which kangaroo will he show us? There are two 
killed, and they lie in different directions.” “ You shall see,” was 
the answer. So Dart led us over several hills, through several 
ravines, and presently stood still at the foot of a rock. There we 
found the second kangaroo ; yet warm, with the hot life-stream still 
flowing from his neck. We strapped him on one of the saddles. 
And now for the other! Will Dart ever find his -way to the spot 
where the first victim lies?—for the two runs had commenced from 
the same point, but in directions at nearly right angles with one 
another. Reid, however, now said to the dog, “ Go on, old fellow! 
go on, go on!” and the intelligent creature, giving first a look all 
round, though he could see nothing but the trees and rocks 
immediately around us, started off quite confidently in the direction 
he had selected. He did not even bring us back to the point whence 
the two chases had diverged, but moved steadily, as straight as the 
crow flics, through several narrow valleys, over three or four small 
hills, and after following him half a mile, we found the first-killed 
kangaroo lying at the root of a gum-tree. It was a very large 
female, and must have weighed full 50 lbs. She must have been hard 
run 5 for we found in her pocket one of her young ones, that she had 
not time to throw away. The females, always, as they rise from 


294 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


their lair, at sight of an enemy, put their hands in their pockets and 
throw their young ones into some place of safety, that they them¬ 
selves may run the lighter. This one had fought desperately fox her 
life and her little joey, as the young are called. Old Dean’s face 
will hear the furrow ploughed by her claw till his dying day. Round 
her lay a plenteous pool of blood : her head was almost torn oft 5 and 
in her side was a deep wound through which Dean s vengeful muzzle 
had drank up her life. We tied her up, and slung her across another 
saddle. 

In the com’se of about three hours we started five, out of which 
the dogs lost two and killed three. This is now considered rather a 
good day’s sport ; for the kangaroo is becoming scarce all over the 
inhabited parts of the island. They are much sought after, not only 
for their dainty brown flesh, which much resembles hare, but also for 
their skins, which, in Launceston and Hobart-town, are tanned into 
very fine soft leather, by means of the mimosa, or wattle-bark. This 
is the best tanning material in the wrnrld ; and of late years the 
mimosa has become of considerable commercial importance ; as many 
cargoes of the bark are annually sent to England. It is one of the 
very loveliest species of acacia ; and unlike the acacias of the northern 
hemisphere, can endure a cold climate ; even at the lakes, here in 
Van Diemen's Land, I have seen it flourish, more than three thousand 
feet above the sea. 

However, this is a treatise of kangaroo hunting, not of botany. 
A kangaroo has strictly no connexion with the wattle-tree, more 
than a calf has with a lemon-tree ; yet as a loin of veal may legiti¬ 
mately suggest a lemon, so may a kangaroo-skin associate itself with 
the graceful tree whose bark is used to dress it. Wonderful and 
subtle is the association of ideas—a “ laughing jackass ” (grey bird 
about the size of a thrush), brays and giggles on a branch near by ; 
if one should only let his mind run along the chain of associations 
linked with the name and the senseless guffaw of this creature,— 
where would it stop ? 

Such and so philosophic arc our reflections, as we sit upon a pros¬ 
trate tree, near a spring ; and content with our day’s hunting, take 
a moderate sip from the tiny brandy-flask. Then to Bothwcll, and 
to dinner at Mr. Reid’s. 

January 5th .—I am prosecuting my hay-liarvest diligently with 
the aid of two or three horrible convict cut-throats, all from Ireland, 
—and all, by them own account, transported for seizing arms. This 


DESCENT INTO II E L L . 


295 


is considered, amongst these fellows, a respectable sort of offence. 
The rascals can earn ten British shillings per diem, at harvest-time ; 
and they live all the year round like Irish kings, not to speak of Irish 
cut-throats. They don’t like to work too hard, and require a good 
deal of wine. They come early from their work, smoke and chat 
with one another all evening in the yard, and go to sleep in their 
opossum rugs in the barn. Yet, with all this high reward they receive 
for their crimes, this paternal care .to make thievery happy, and 
munificent endowment of rascality, the creatures are not utterly bad 
—not half so bad, for example, as the Queen of England’s cabinet 
councillors. They are civil, good-natured with one another, and not 
thievish at all—partly because they are so well off that there is little 
temptation, and partly because the punishments are savage. How¬ 
ever, it is a remarkable fact, which I will here set down, that in 
nearly three years, during which time I have been in Van Diemen’s 
Land, living for most part in a lonely cottage, with windows all 
round close to the ground, and quite unsecured, and with two or 
more prisoner-servants always about the place, my family have felt 
as secure, and slept as peacefully, as ever they did in Banbridge ; 
and, save one double-barrelled gun, nothing was ever stolen from 
me. It would be pleasant enough to see these creatures comfortable, 
and tolerably decent in their behavior, but for the thought that this 
whole system is in truth a fruitful “ breeder of sinnersand that 
the same hateful government and state of society in England, which 
so richly reward these men for their villainies, punish, starve, and 
debase the poor and honest, for being poor and honest. Many a 
time, therefore, as I look upon these quiet, well-behaved men reaping, 
not too arduously, singing or smoking in the fields, or cheerfully 
“ following the plough upon the mountain side,” or tending their 
masters’ flocks in the fair forest pastures, like human husbandmen 
and simple Arcadian shepherds—instead of rejoicing in their improved 
conditions and behavior, I gaze on them with horror, as unclean and 
inhuman monsters, due long ago to the gallows-tree and oblivion ; 
and then the very sunlight in this most radiant land takes a livid hue 
to my eyes! the waving, whispering woods put on a brown horror, 
like the forests that w r ave and sigh through Dante’s Tartarean vision. 
The soft west wind that blows here for ever, has a moan like the 
moan of damned souls 1 the stars look dim ; and on the corner of the 
moon there hangs a vaporous drop profound. The devil’s in it. 

This subterranean and altogether infernal mood of mind is helped 


296 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


by some of the names that the early colonists have given to hills and 
rivers. In Bothwell district we have a ravine called “ Hell's Gates,” 
through whose dismal shade you pass to a hill overlooking the 
junction of two rivers, a steep and grassy hill, embowered with 
thickets of mimosa, but bearing the awful name—“ Hill of Blazes.” 
Into the Derwent, near New Norfolk, flows the river “ Styx ;” and 
Charon’s ferry-boat never touched the banks of Asphodel meadows so 
fair as the tufted hills that are laved by the crystalline waters of this 
Tasmanian Hell-stream, named of Hatred. Flows here, too, the real 
Lethe 5 and men grow 7 like Lethe’s ow'ii fat v T eeds, that rot themselves 
at ease. There is darkness around us, and a sulphury smell. How 
horrible to live here ! How horrible to die! 1 pray, as prayed the 

bearer of the Seven-fold Shield, Oh! slay me at least in daylight! 
Tartarean reapers of Erebus! ye are reaping, w ith your damned 
sickles, a harvest of Hell; and preparing the ground in these Cim¬ 
merian regions of outer darkness to yield crops of abomination and 
horror, some thirty-fold, and some sixty-fold, for generations of un¬ 
born men.—For is not the human species making “ Progress?” 

/ 7th .—Letter from Reilly ; very welcome to me, though it has been 

long on the way. He WTites from New York; wdiere he seems to 
have endured many a struggle and agony that might well have 
crushed and subdued any less fiery spirit. Truly, w T e think our own 
case hard, chained here under the Southern Cross ; yet on the whole, 
our poor friends w T ho escaped the talons of British law, have had a far 
worse time of it. The letter is in his usual style, glowing now with 
a wild, rollicking eloquence, melting with brotherly tenderness (for 
w r e are brothers indeed), raging with the savage indignation that 
gnaw r s liis heart—full of hope, full of despair,—merry and miserable. 
1 have read it with much laughter ; and if I had yet tears to shed 
they w r ould have flowed over it.* 

First, he addresses himself, poor fellow 7 ! to console and encourage 
me. 

“ Now, that your wdfe and babes are wdth you, that you have sheep, 
and ducks, and lambs, and goslings, you ought to be as happy as any 
man can be, born on the Acropolis, and banished to Arcadia. 
W ould you make yourself Touchstone, and sigh for courts find the 

♦Thomas Devin Reilly is dead. The largest heart, the most daring spirit, the 
loftiest genius, of all Irish Rebels in these latter days, sleeps now in his American 
grave. Many a reader will be glad to see how, and in what terms, he wrote of the 
men and scenes around him, to a friend at the antipodes. 


REILLY — MAZZINI — KOSSUTII. 297 

busy world ? For shame, man. It is well for you, at all events, for 

the last two years, that you have been tied up by your enemies.”- 

Be it so : but who told you that I was a Touchstone, and sighed for 
courts, my dear friend ? Courts, quotha ? I sigh only to set fire to 
them; and as for being “happy” here,—come and spend one year 
with me at Nant Cottage, and see how it will agree with you! Here 
is the account he gives (the letter is dated April 24th, 1852) of the 
European Republicans in those days. The strange narrative of his 
interview with the intellectual Kalmuck, Kossuth, will give a vivid 
page to my memorandum-book. 

“ Garibaldi earrieth hides and corn, somewhere in your vicinity, on 
the Pacific, between South America and California. Mazzini has 
allied himself with the English ‘ liberals ’ and ‘ protestantism,’ dis¬ 
owned the Chartists, abused the French Socialists, and avowed him¬ 
self for the establishment of a ‘ liberal consolidated Italian unity,’ and 
against popery as a religious creed. He is dead and done for, and 
will have to go, with his ‘ liberals ’ and his k protestantism.’ ”—This, 
to me, Oh Devin! is not so clear. There is no harm, I suppose, in a 
man’s being against popery, or against protestantism, “ as a religious 
creed ”—no harm, I mean, in a revolutionary sense, and for this 
world’s business (for of couse his soul will “go,” as you call it). 
But, if I mistake not, Thomas Jefferson (no bad revolutionist) was 
against popery as a creed. However, enter the Kalmuck—“ Kossuth 
has played the devil with himself—allied himself with the English 
liberals, too,—breakfasted, dined, tea’d, and was led round by Lord 
Dudley Stuart, and that rascal crew [let me interpose here to remark 
that Lord Dudley Stuart is not rascal, but only ninny-hammer, 
omadhaun , and mooncalf]—then came to this country with a suite, 
in uniform and livery, put on a devil of a lot of airSf made many 
magnificent and telling speeches in the good cause, but beslavered 
the English and their Constitution, advised the Irish to unite with 
them, and help the great English People, from Palmerston down to 
the voter, ‘ to free Europe!’—and may now be considered as snuffed 
out, or flickering. I must confess this is an inconstant people, espe¬ 
cially to distinguished strangers : after bepraising them, bedining 
them, and bespeeching them, lest the rogues should, on their return 
to Europe, repay their hospitality by abusing them, as Dickens and 
Moore and others of that kidney did, they take time with the whip- 
hand, and anticipate the poor devil they have honored by immediately 
abusing him themselves—[And why not ? It is acting upon the 

13* 



208 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


ancient receipt, to prevent one’s self from being tossed by a bull—* 
‘ Toss him.']—It is a national characteristic, founded on wit and 
policy, and experience of distinguished strangers. But, at the same 
time, Kossuth has not done well or wisely. He has gathered some 
money, and considerably injured a good cause. He is as precipitate 
as a vixen, puts on sagacity in public, as a foolish girl would a hood, 
and keeps eternally looking out at the bystanders, to see if they 
know him under the disguise.” 

Well, I cannot say that the above paints the Hun to my eyes very 
life-like ; but here comes the governor in person.-Reilly con¬ 

tinues : 

“ I had a private interview with him of some length. He remind¬ 
ed me of Urquhart. No doubt he set me down for an Irish idiot ; 
but, Lord! it was a comical scene. * * * He is a fine-looking 

fellow, has great eyes, half-a-dozen foreheads round his head, and 
probably one at the back ; stuffed with all sorts of ‘ languidges,’ 
including the ‘ languidge of flours and luv dark hair, and brown¬ 
ish black beard, both roughcast with grey, like imitation granite, and 
the latter as stiff as a hackler’s steel comb, and sticking out huge, 
round and round, like rays of the light of darkness: light made, 
middle-sized, a most intellectual Calmuck.”- 

Now, that will do. The man is posed: he is mis en scene . Now 
for your interview of some length. Go on. “ They had slavered 
him here at such a rate, that when I proceeded to argue with him, he 
bounded off his chair, cooled himself with a cigar, fore-fingered a 
fellow (like Urquhart, you know), and proceeded to show me, in the 
usual dogmatic manner, that that was that. Dixi . So did I, just 
the same ; gave him Dixi for Dixi, with a profound dip and a flat 
contradiction. Lord! if you had seen him then!—ten hundred 
Urquharts ‘ rowled into one,’ were nothing to him. So we came to 
figures : he calmed and-became placid. I begged him not to preci¬ 
pitate the whole cause of Europe on himself and his country. No ? 
his letters informed him that in three months insurrection would be 
in France, and a true Republic. I hinted my experience in 
programmes upon such occasions, especially as to dates. Like John 
Martin, he propounded the orthodox dogma that I was ‘ a young 
man ’—my experience was nothing. He had played with the blood 
of nations on the battle-field. (Lord! how that stung! but he did 
not see it. If we had only fought, somebody else too would have 
played with at least two units of the blood of nations)—but my 




TILE CELT AND THE OALMUOK. 


299 


experience, lie continued, might come yet. Then I would know 
what it was to hear the cries of a nation sinking unto death. In 
three months, his standard would be above him—in three months the 
armies of the true French Republic would be—and so forth. Within 
three weeks and less, the news reached us that Louis Napoleon had 
mastered the French people by a coup, a razzia at night, and a 
battue on the general public for ten days after.” 

My dear fellow! all this I know, through “ the usual channels of 
information;” for the immortal printing-press executes its holy 
mission even here also. Therefore drop contemporary history, and 
give me more about the Magyar. I can fancy these two strange 
interlocutors—a Celtic O’Reilly of Brcfni-O’Reilly, and a Calmuck 
Tartar, whose forefathers pitched black tents on the steppes ot the 
Yenisei, meeting in one' room in that busy New York city, so indif¬ 
ferent to both Celt and Calmuck—and trying, by help of cigars and 
gesticulation, to bring about an agreement between themselves as to 
how this globe was to be rescued from the kings and the devils.—I 
wish I had been there to make a trio.—But go on, Devin. 

-“ The Irish and priestly organs here had opposed him and his 

country (they now toast and bless Louis Napoleon for having saved 
< Order ’ and Religion), and so I told him that I wished at all events 
to assure him of the deep sympathy and affection of all Irish Repub¬ 
licans. I explained to him, however, exactly, and in plain terms, 
what he would get,—refusal, in the way he sought help. Whether it 
was that my always eloquent method of public speaking came to my 
aid, or that it was the first honest and true word he had heard here 
(but I think it must have been the public speaking), he hung his head 
for a minute, was silent, and the big tears stood in his eyes. ‘ Then, 
he said, ‘ my mission ’ (what fools to have missions ! But probably 
it is the way they speak common sense and manhood in England, and 
among the ‘liberals,’ that taught him the damned idiom)—‘then 
mine mission is lost,—defeated—I may return to mine country and 

die.’ ” 

“ I fear he will go back with a very bad idea (in both senses) of 
the real springs of policy in this country. However he has extin¬ 
guished himself, and will never lead in Europe again [Be not too 
sure of that, O! Devin Reilly], and being so, you can fancy the 
above interview [Yes, I can]—this child on one side, and a Calmuck 
Urquhart made of India rubber, jumping about, one moment sinuous 
as a pickpocket or a rattlesnake without the rattles,—then ricochet- 



300 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


'ting on his chair at the smallest contradiction, using arms, legs, head, 
face, eyes, tongue, beard, forefinger, cigar, and back-bone in joints, 
in his tremendous eloquence.’’ 

Ah! it is enough. Shady is the vale of Clyde, and rural the 
cottage of Nant; but, without meaning disrespect to the South Pole, 
I would that I were smoking a cigar with that Calmuck and that 
Celt in that Excelsior Knickerbocker city ! Stay, here is still more 
of the Magyar, from another part of the letter. Sayeth the Celt of 
the Calmuck— 

“ He ‘ prays to God ’ too much, speechificatorily, carries his tears 
in his-pocket, and can weep, and can actually wet his handkerchief, 
as mere touches of rhetoric and good points. Ilis thanks for any¬ 
thing and everything he gets (a Rev. Mistress O’Donohue, of Cin¬ 
cinnati and pork, presented him with her infant son as an offering to 
Hungary—he would be taught to raise his little hat and feather to 
the cause of Hungary, when he would hear in his little ears of her 
being freed by the great Kossuth ; and he took it, and made a prayer 
—0 Lord, what a prayer!—if He who sitteth in the heavens heard it, 
He must have laughed—pray God that blessed infant may not be 
tempted to try experiments with the hat and feather, as naughty 
Master Gargantua did with the lady’s ruff; for it might tear his 
tender flesh with the cruel buckle, and so defeat the hope of Hungary) 
—pardon this parenthesis, Master John [now, what is the use of a 
second parenthesis to excuse the first; which provokes this third 
parenthesis from me ?]—in capacity to take anything he gets, and to 
appraise it in thanks, he is as good as O'Connell. But I tire you 
with this long description.” 

Why, yes ; a little. Take up another man : say yourself, my dear 
friend. He (Reilly) is now, it seems, writing in the Democratic 
Review; and from the tone of much of his letter I perceive that he 
is exerting every nerve, of body and brain, laboring as did never 
Hercules in his combat with the hydra of Lerna—to kill, to crush, to 
smash, blow to atoms, turn inside out, and trample into the earth, a 
gang of desperadoes (they must be the enemies of the human race) 
whom he names Old Fogies. Now, the usual channels of information 
have not brought me information who these old sinners specially 
are : but I sympathize with my friend’s animosity, and hate them in 
advance. He gives a sad account of himself before the reviewing 
came, and this deadly fight with the fogies. He says,—“When I 
received that letter of yours, I was in the depth of poverty and 


REILLY UPON DOUGLAS. 


301 


misery of mind, yet struggling to compass this position I have now 
attained. My heart was too sore, and I was too anxious to tell you 
some good news, to answer it. Then, as the prospect brightened, 
and I saw before me eventual success in my efforts to get the Review , 
I began to scribble and scrawl, in fits and starts, my plans ;—and the 
accumulated bulk of prospective intentions is now in part condensed 
in the columns thereof.” ’ 

He has found an Irish wife, too, in America; and in all his “ sore¬ 
ness of heart,” his poverty, and misery, this treasure of a wife seems 
to be his best guardian, guide, and tower of strength. On her is 
lavished all the passionate tenderness of his exaggerative nature: 
and he loves her as he hates an Old Fogy. In doleful strain he goes 
on : 

u In my worst misery I lost my boy, called after you ; then in my 
first month of editing, I had to rise from my writing to bury my 
little daughter. I thought God, or fate, was going to strip me stark- 
naked for the combat,—and that long ill-health, fretting, poverty, 
and these accumulated sorrows, were about to deprive me even of the 
last vesture, my wife.” 

Here follows a record of more, and more touching sorrows ; but let 
them be sacred. God or fate never smote a stouter heart; and from 
that sore smiting, stripping bare, and crushing fall to Earth, the 
young Earth-born Titan will spring up more Titanic still. 

Soon, he leaves his own sorrows behind him ; and begins to tell me 
eagerly and earnestly about a certain “ Douglas.” Now, who the 
devil is Douglas ?* Enter Douglas, introduced by Devin Reilly— 
“ A fine little fellow, about forty, or five-and-forty, squat-built, of 
great eloquence and rare abilities as a statesman, a thorough democrat, 
and hates England very well for an American.” 

One begins to take an interest in this small man of great eloquence ; 
and, on reading farther, I discover that Reilly and his Revieio want 
to make him no less than President of the United States. 

“ It was a desperate move, to carry a nation by storm ; and we 
may be killed in the very heart of the citadel [I hope not, Tom] ; but 
it was the best move on the board ; and once carried, all was pretty 
certain afterwards. Douglas, if he attain power (he may be, and is, 

# j bog pardon now (^N^cw YorTc , Aiiq, 1.854)) for tbo inexcusable ignoianco 
betrayed in the above ejaculation ; which, however, may be somewhat palliated by 
my retired way of life for some years before. J- M. 


302 


JAIL JOUltNAL. 


timid and wavering in tlie method of getting in, but), once in, I am 
persuaded, if the Maker of men does not sell wooden nutmegs, that he 
will prove spicy to the core, and ride roughshod over all antagonists, 
native and especially foreign. [From all which I infer that this Mr. 
Douglas is, at any rate, not an Old Fogy.] It is now acknowledged, 
we, that is T. D. R., that is The Democratic Review , have killed 
dead the Old Fogies, and carried for him in convention the State of 
New York.” 

What this last carrying in Convention may mean or amount to, I 
know not;—but I am glad the Old Fogies are dead. John Knox 
indeed, as he smokes by the fire, while I read him the letter, often 
lifts his eye-brows high, and sometimes takes the pipe out of his 
mouth, to exclaim, “ God bless me ! who are are these poor Fogies.” 
He trusts their sins may be forgiven them ; but I, on the other hand, 
insult their ashes, in sympathy with the fury of my friend ; and drink 
to-night, to the success of Douglas, small of bulk, but spicy to the 
core. 


303 


FAILURE OF “ TII E PEOPLE.” 

* 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Reilly’s Letter—Failure of “ the People The Whig Review —A Gascon Irishman 

—A Scarlet Democrat, Piratic and Honest—Mr. Corry—Irish Affairs—The Priests 
and Holy Wells—Destiny of Reilly—Haymaker goes to the Diggings—A Stranger 
Appears amongst us—P. J. Smyth—Meeting with O’Doherty and O’Brien—Smyth 
in Hobart-town—We visit O’Brien at New Norfolk—Consultations about Escape 
—To Bothwell—Smyth Reconnoitres the Police Office—His Life in America. Day¬ 
light begins to dawn. 

Bothwell , 8th January , 1853.—To-day we resumed (John Knox and 
myself) our reading of Reilly's letter, or letters, from New Tork. 
There are about forty-five pages of them, written at various times j 
and with supreme disregard to consecutiveness and coherency 5 so that 
we feel as if our impetuous friend were sitting with us, at our cottage 
door, in the summer evening, smoking and pouring out by fits his 
wild discourse. 

It seems he has been writing in three or four other publications 
before throwing himself into this Democratic Review. His first 
publication was The People , a weekly newspaper, wherein beseems to 
have tried with all his might to explode the old principle of Ameiican 
u non-intervention.” He accounts for the failure of that organ 
intelligibly enough. “ To both parties,” he says, “ the principles of 
intervention in European affairs were foreign : and since (save in 
times of political refugeeism, and even to some extent then), the 
immigration here was composed of characters not always the most 
trustworthy or true, and of human semblances not always the most 
gratifying examples of European production ; a general distrust of 
all foreigners pervaded the entire people. Add to this, my profound 
ignorance of American politics on my arrival, and farther ignorance 
of parties and persons.” 

Then his associate in the undertaking was, it seems, a “ whig,” 
« A good fellow named Robinson, of the great family mentioned in 


304 


JAIL JOTTKNAL. 


Carpenter’s spelling book, in connection with Smyth, Brown, and 
Jones, and with drowning ; who, being an extravagant whig blowing- 
horn among the Irish, drowned me.” 

John Knox here quarrels with Devin’s metaphor, saying, reasonably 
enough, that it is impossible to be drowned by a blowing-horn. If 
he had said blown up, now, said Knox, or blown away ;—but I, deem¬ 
ing his criticism frivolous, interrupt him with the interjection “ You 
be blowed !” and continue my reading. “ No effort of mine could 
save me from the charge of being a whig, and therefore a bad 
democrat and bad Irishman, because I had formed this connection.” 

“ Again—I had some few who understood me, especially Poles, 
Italians, French [no doubt, they would understand intervention], and 
Republican Americans : but, generally speaking, I was in this fix— 
Americans, from the President (and old Zack did pay his subscription 
like a man, peace be to his fine old red corpse of rusty iron) down to 
my tailor, looked at my paper, sneered, shrugged, poo-pooed ; or said 

‘ clever,’ but always added, 1 Irish.’ ”-“ Then, the priests, when 

I plainly took sides against the Pope, and 4 the interests of religion,’ 
pronounced me a heretic [God bless me, says Knox, could the poor 
priests do less?] and the church organ excommunicated me [that, 
says Knox, was going too far]—and the servant maids shuddered at 

my name.”-“ 0, weary me ! you know it all: well, that’s the way 

the People failed.”—And a very natural way, too. 

Then came poverty, and more poverty,—Tom’s American tailor 
now doing worse than sneering: but he continues—“Living on 
nothing at all a week, and finding myself, would not do: so I was 
soon in New York, taking, or about to take, the Whig Review 
(leading Conservative and high Tory organ) as far as possible into 
democracy. I will send, if possible, some of these. [No Whig Reviews, 
however, have reached Tasmania]. For six months I wrote in that 
Review, and drove the knife up to the handle as often as I could”— 
[that is, he drove the Red Republican and filibuster sword of sharp 
ness into the flabby body of whiggery]—So “ The whigs drove me out 
of their ranks as an incendiary and wolf in sheep’s clothing, and a 
snake in the grass, and a monomaniac, and the devil knows what 
besides.” 

Yet, it seems he leaves an impression—Thomas Devin Reilly, his 
mark ; which can afterwards be read by those who run. lie says : 

Elections come on. I receive letters, invitations, thanks, praises, 
from the leaders of the democratic party. The other night, I walked 




GASCON IRISHMAN. 


305 


into tlieir meeting, heard my dreams of years pronounced from the 
democratic platform, received the pledge of the influential to drive 
the matter on, was introduced all round as the author of so and so.” 

“ Really, 'my friend, if I succeed in these things, and have but one 
hand in pouring down one American torrent upon Europe, 1 shall 
consider, when we meet, that though I was swept over and under and 
up again, and" did many wrong, many despairing, many rash things, 
as is natural to 4 a young man J with red hair, and peculiarly ncrvo- 
sanguineous temperament (as one of my medical friends remarks on 
shooting excursions), that I have really done something which may 
entitle me, when you shall be at the head of affairs [what does he 
mean by that ? says Mr. Knox, taking his pipe from his lips. Why 
he means, my dear fellow, when I shall be in America, directing the 
filibustering and crusading energies of that Republic to the regenera¬ 
tion of the human race—sending forth armies of fiery Yankees to set 
Poland on her feet, to set Kossuth high in Buda Pesth, to shut up the 
Emperor Napoleon in Ham once more,—to erect provisional govern¬ 
ments in Dublin Castle, Buckingham Palace, Vienna, Berlin and 
Milan, to drive the Czar back to Tobolsk, to turn the Italian “ sigh 
of ages ” into an Io poean, and to kick the Pope's three hats from 
Cape Sp^artivento to the Alps. He means this. Ah! very likely, 
said Knox]—entitle me,” continues Devin, 44 to a placid hole in some 
sweet valley, a burly meerschaum, and an unfathomable drink. Now, 
I have given you my history ; and I hope its exceeding vanity and 
impertinent exterior may afford you as much amusement as the history 
of any other nomadic Irishman or Gascon.” 

However the history of this amazing Gascon Irishman is not over 
yet. He rushes with all his soul into the Democratic Revieiu. Here 
is the account he gives of his associates in the undertaking: 44 My 
publisher is an able Red Republican American, and scarlet democrat, 
piratic and honestAllow me to make you acquainted. Mr. Holly,* 
Mr. Mitchel—bow. Mr. Holly is the best friend I ever met in America ; 
and as (should the chance offer) we have agreed to make together 
a little peaceable campaign and shooting excursion, not on the moors, 
but, strange to say, cockney-fashion, about London, I trust that in 
this country or the next you may meet. [Happy to make the ac- 


* If these gentlemen are still in rerum naturd I trust they will not be offended 
by the freedom which our common friend used in introducing them so uncere¬ 
moniously to his correspondent in Van Diemen’s Land. 


305 


•JAIL JOURNAL. 


quaintance of this scarlet democrat, piratic and.honest.] I am com¬ 
missioned also to present to you the ‘ love ’ of a Western American— 
and I had rather take his love than his hate—Oorry of Ohio, whose 
speech formed the leading feature of our late 4 great meeting.’ His 
democracy is very extensive, about six and a half feet from the sole 
of the foot to the crown, and sharp in its way, for there is not a pick 
on him. He is a democratic lamp-post, holding a big light in its 
head, on an almighty thin body. He knows you, too.” 

[Sir, I am delighted to welcome you at Nant Cottage. Please to 
walk in. Stoop a little, lest you crack your lamp. You will join 
my friend Mr. Knox and me in a pipe of Cavendish and a glass of 
Bothwell beer.] 

Then comes Mr. Saunders, another able man, and true democrat. 
But I have extracted enough. Reilly proceeds to talk of Irish affairs, 
and informs me of the pending election for New Ross ; wherein 
Ireland is to be saved, at last, by the return of Mr. Gavan Huffy, or, 
as my correspondent writes the name, Mr. Give-in Duffy. On these 
Irish affairs, he expresses himself, I must admit, in a very wild 
manner. “ About the 1 priests and holy wells,’ all I shall say is, Pray 
God to sink the first to the bottom of the second !” And, again, as to 
Ireland. “ I have not excused, or refused to acknowledge the black 
degradation to which our country is reduced ; but I have said, 1 1 
grant everything bad you can possibly say of my country and country¬ 
men ; but then, the worse she is, the greater proof of her political 
servitude, for her people are a fine and gallant people, and fight as 
you well know. Being so, you must elect to make her a friend or an 
enemy. She must be the avant-garde into Europe, or the Vendee. 
Throw an army into her, and you smash financially and territorially 
the British empire ; but let the revolution burst and work its way in 
Italy, and be misrepresented by priests and Britishers—and Ireland 
becomes the deadliest foe of Republicanism in Europe. I have talked 
in this stylo, not without effect, I hope. I will not say more than 
that I hope .” 

We close this singular letter, and sit silent awhile. At last, quoth 
John Knox, “ Clearly to be an Irishman is no high recommendation in 
the world, at present. I pity Reilly, wearing and wasting himself 
there, in that coil of American politics, shedding out his heart’s blood 
coined into dollars, for whig or for democratic place-hunters, if they 
will only give him a hope, and hardly a hope, for Ireland—lavishing 
without stint or measure the ore of his teeming brain for them—if 


MISSION OF REILLY. 


307 


they will but say a kind word (or, as he says, poor fellow), pledge 
themselves , in the cause of Ireland. Still Ireland, Ireland!—as if 
Ireland were still alive, and not a corpse. And all this, while the 
ignominy of our dismal failure is fast making the name of Irishman 
an hissing and an abomination. It is a desperate and most touching 
loyalty this of Reilly’s.” 

“ And what would you have for Reilly, then ?” “A ticket of 
leave,” says Knox, “ and a gum-tree hut, for the present ; an escape 
from the turmoil of what they call politics, and an opportunity to lay 
up and hoard thought, instead of wasting and squandering it ; to feed 
and mature his genius here in the forests, in the kind lap of his 
mother Nature, instead of beggaring and debasing it, in pursuit, 
indeed, of radiant visions shining from afar, but of mean personal 
intrigues, cumbering and spoiling all his present life. Better be a 
shepherd at the Lakes till better times.” 

“ That may do well enough for you and me, Mr. Knox ; but for 
Reilly, action is his life. In this same vehement action and passion, 
in this grapple and struggle with fate and the busy world, in exer¬ 
cising, and even wantonly wasting every faculty and energy of mind 
and body, fitfully flashing out the rays of his intellect, be it to illumi¬ 
nate or to set on fire—that restless spirit finds its only joy, its only 
possibility of being. Bring him here, and lie would hang himself on 
a gum-tree. Rather let him expend himself there, in fighting Fogies, 
in crushing joyfully under his heel the head of humbug and cant. He 
has, at all events, a noble aim, and he will prosecute it nobly. Like 
Ram-Das, that Hindoo saint or god, lie feels that there is fire enough 
in his body to burn up all the baseness and poltroonery in the world. 
Let him fire away.” 

But he will perish.” 

“ Let him perish. It will be in a great cause and to have an 
aim and a cause, is not this happiness ? How many are there of all 
the human race who have faith in anything, or aspiration after any¬ 
thing, higher than their daily bread and beer, their influence, social 
position, respectability in the eyes of the unrespectable world ? Even 
in this very devout, almost despairing loyalty to his discrowned Queen 
and mother Ireland, is there not a joy that colder, tamer spirits never 
know ? Through his dreams there shines in upon him the beautiful 
mournful face of his sad Roisin dubh, the torn and crushed Dark Rose 
that he has worn in his heart from a boy—thrilling him with an immor¬ 
tal passion, like the passion that consumed the chieftain of Tir-conail— 


308 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


“ Over dews, over sands, 

Will I fly, for your weal; 

Your holy delicate white hands 
Shall girdle me with steel— 

At home .... in your emerald bowers, 

From morning’s dawn till e’en, 

You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers, 

My Dark Rosaleen ! 

“ Over hills, and through dales, 

Have I roamed for your sake; 

All yesterday I sailed with sails 
On river and on lake. 

The Erne .... at its highest flood, 

I dashed across unseen, 

For there was lightning in my blood, 

My Dark Rosaleen ! 

My own Rosaleen ! 

Oh ! there was lightning in my blood— 

Red lightning lightened through my blood, 

My Dark Rosaleen!” 

—Happy, whose veins yet shoot and glow with red lightning- 
blood, instead of trickling white serum and Bothwell beer ! 

“ Don’t the men,” said Knox, “finish the hay to-night?” 

“ Confound the hay! I tell you that I envy Devin Reilly for 
being alive,—alive as you and I will never, never be alive again.” 

True enough, the hay was all stacked; and the men came to be 
paid. One of them, a civil and hard working cut-throat from the 
County Limerick, asked me to sign a printed paper for him. It was 
a certificate that he had been in my employment, and had behaved 
moderately well. “ I’m off for the diggins in Port Philip,” said he, 
“ to-morrow ; my ‘ conditional pardon ’ has come to hand, and I must 
have this paper to show the magistrate to-morrow morning when I 
go to take out my free papers.” 

“ I wish you luck, Mike,—don’t spend all your money in Maskell’s 
public house to-night.” “ By my sowl, sir,” said Mike, “ I must 
drink to-night to ould Garryowen, and the sky over it. Good 
night, sir.” 

To-morrow I ride down to Hobart-town, and am to return by New 
Norfolk. 

13fA January. —A new personage has appeared amongst us, 
dropped from the sky, or from New York. When I arrived in 
Hobart-town, two or three days ago, I went first, of course, to 




p. j. s myt n in tan diemen’s land. 309 

St. Mary’s Hospital, where I found St. Kevin in his laboratory. He 
opened his eyes wide when he saw me, drew me into a private room, 
and bid me guess who had come to Van Diemen’s Land. Guessing 
was out of the question; so I waited his revelation. 

“ Pat Smyth !” 

“ Transported ?” “ No, my boy : commissioned by the Irish Di¬ 

rectory in New York, to procure the escape of one or more of us, 
O’Brien especially,—and with abundant means to secure a ship for 
San Francisco, and to provide for rescuing ps, if necessary, out of 
the hands of the police magistrate, after withdrawing the parole in 
due form. He travels this day by the day coach from Launceston, 
and is to meet O’Brien and me this evening at Bridgewater (ten 
miles off), instead of coming into Hobart-town direct. You will go 
with me. O’Brien is to ride down from New Norfolk, and we can 
consult on the affair. There cannot be a doubt of success,” added 
St. Kevin, “for at least one of us.” 

I shook my head at first, which the Saint was going to resent as a 
personal insult. So we agreed to say nothing about it till we 
should meet our friends in the evening. Smyth’s mission certainly 
looks serious ; for he is a cool-headed rebel, by no means likely to 
come so far without a plan, or to play at any child’s game. 

St. Kevin borrowed a horse from a priest. I rode my own ; and 
at the hour appointed we met O’Brien, almost at the door Ot the 
hotel, mounted on old Squirrel. The coach had not yet arrived. 
Seven o’clock came, and no coach, though it was fully due. Eight 
o’clock, half past eight, and still no coach. All this time we spent 
sauntering in the garden, talking of the matter in hand. The diffi¬ 
culty, and almost impossibility of the whole four of us availing our¬ 
selves of this chance, occurs at once. O’Brien is clearly of opinion 
that the only mode of discharging ourselves of our parole will be to 
withdraw it formally, each in the police-office of his own allotted 
district, giving the authorities full opportunity to take him into cus¬ 
tody if’they are able (if not able it will be their misfortune)—that 
this must be done within proper business hours, from ten till three— 
that any previous bribery will be quite legitimate, even to buying 
the police magistrates, if there be money enough—that any force or 
violence (O’Brien says, short of killing) will then be allowable if the 
rascals attempt to secure us within their offices,—but, that in any 
event we are bound to present ourselves in proper person, and make 
the magistrate clearly understand (within his own office, and with 


310 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


his constables about him) that our parole is at end, that our tieket- 
of-leave is resigned, and that we are going away. 

That we should all four do this simultaneously, in our respective 
police-offices, appears, ou full consideration, impossible : and O’Brien 
insists that 7 shall take this turn. 

I propose another plan, by which we should all get ourselves placed 
under arrest in one spot, and in circumstances that would make a 
rescue easy : but O’Brien and O’Doherty hold to the mode of proce¬ 
dure I have already described. 

Some mischance had delayed the coach ; and the hour came when 
O’Brien and St. Kevin must return to their respective “registered 
lodgings.” They left me, and I engaged a bed at the hotel for the 
night. Half-an-hour after they had gone, the coach drove up : it was 
dark : I stood in the hall, which was brightly lighted by a lamp. All 
the passengers left the coach, and walked into the hotel. Amongst 
others, a youug man stepped down from the coach, and entered. lie 
looked me full in the face, and I him. It was Smyth; but neither of 
us, after four years, knew the other. I listened, as be went to the 
office, and engaged a bed; yet I did not know his voice. lie came 
out to get his portmanteau, and we passed each other again in the 
hall—“ It must be Smyth,” I said ; “ nobody else would be stopping 
short here, within ten miles of Hobart-town.” So I followed him out, 
and went round after him to the outer side of the coach, where all 
was dark. “Is your name Smyth?” He turned upon me suddenly : 
clearly he thought it was a detective—thought that he had been 
traced all the way to the very spot where he was to meet us—that he 
was a prisoner, and all was over. I hastened to undeceive him, for he 
looked strongly tempted to shoot me and bolt. “ All right, Smyth : 
silence : follow me into the parlor.” So I strolled carelessly in. 
Presently he joined me, and the coach drove off. We spent the even¬ 
ing together in a private room; and each had much to ask ; but we 
deferred speaking particularly of his plans, till we should meet the 
rest. 

The next evening at O’Brien’s lodgings in New Norfolk. Smyth 
explained his instructions—to secure the escape of O’Brien and of me, 
or either of us, if both could not go—Smyth himself being ready and 
willing to take the principal share in all the risk of rescuing us by 
force, if force were needed. O’Brien’s « sentence ” being for life, we 
both earnestly pressed on bim that he should first avail himself of 
Smyth’s services. He entered fully into his reasons for declining— 


CONSULTATION AT NEW NORFOLK. 311 

he hail already had his chance, had made the attempt to escape from 
Maria Island—it bad failed ; and the expenses incurred by it had 
been defrayed by public money. This, he said, is your chance. 
Besides, you have stronger motives to betake yourself to America 
than I have 5 and you will be more at home there. It may be, he 
continued, that the British government may find it, some time or 
other, their best policy to set me free, without making submission to 
them : in that case, I return to Ireland : if I break away against their 
will, Ireland is barred against me for ever. 

O’Brien,'as his friends know, is immovable: therefore, we soon 
desisted from the vain attempt to shake his resolution: and I then ■ 
declared that I would make the attempt, in the way he prescribed. 

Yesterday, Smyth and I set out for Bothwell, I on horseback ; he 
in a sort of public conveyance ; for there is a rough road up the 
valley of the Derwent as far as Hamilton, where the Clyde falls into 
it: Hamilton is a pretty straggling village, with a good hotel, a 
police office, and jail of course, a church, a public pound, and about 
thirty grog-shops. Hence to Bothwell, the way lies through meie 
forest, and wild hills. A saddle-horse was not to be had : so, Smyth 
was obliged to hire a small spring-cart, with a man to drive it, and I 
rode alongside. A pleasant journey of twenty miles through the 
summer woods 5 and here we are at Nant cottage. 

As we passed through the township of Bothwell, I turned aside 
from our direct course to ask for letters at the post-office. Smyth, 
having discharged his conveyance, came with me on foot. “ Where 
is this formidable police-office?” he said. “ Come and see : it is in 
the same building with the post-office.” As we approached, he nar¬ 
rowly reconnoitered the premises; and while I asked for letters at 
the window, he walked coolly into the police-office, and into the ma¬ 
gistrate’s room, surveyed that gentleman a moment, and his police- 
clerk sitting at his desk—then crossed the hall, strolled into the 
chief-constable’s office ; made reconnaissance of its exact situation, of 
the muskets ranged in their rack, of the hand-cuffs and other 
instruments of convict coercion hanging on the wall: then came 
out; observed the watch-house opposite ; the constables lazily walk- 
inn- ’about (one of them civilly holding my horse); the police- 
barrack on a little hill facing us, and the other features in the scene 

of future operations. 

« x think,” he said, “ three or four men, or at most half a dozen, 
with Colt’s revolvers, might sack the township, and carry oil the 


312 


JAIL JOURNAL. 

police-magistrate. A great man is Mr. Colt—one of the greatest 
minds in our country.” 

The cottage is in a stir to-day. Smyth had been intimately 
acquainted with us in Dublin, and also with John Knox. Since then, 
he has been roving over Ireland, trying, like the rest, to kindle an 
insurrection that would not burn—then escaping by a Galway 
emigrant ship, in the guise of a friese-coated peasant, to America,— 
making off life by precarious methods in New York,—editing a 
newspaper in Pittsburg,—agitating, in the New York Sun, the Nica¬ 
ragua Railroad question, and striving to rile up the American mind 
against England thereupon ; in short, discharging like Reilly, all 
the duties and functions of a true rebel and refugee. He is also, 
from of old, a close friend of Meagher, and gives us a pleasant 
account of all the actings and sayings of that ex-prisoner, formerly 
of the Dog’s Head, Lake Sorel, but now of the Metropolitan Hotel, 
Broadway; how the gobemouches worried him ; how the old con¬ 
federates shed tears of joy over him ; how the priests scowled upon 
him ; how the ladies smiled upon him ; all which one can very well 
imagine. 

Smyth is to stay with us two or three days, then proceed to other 
parts of the island, to consult our friends and make needful arrange¬ 
ments. 

Already I begin to snuff the air of the upper world, and to see 
daylight through the opening gates of Hades . 


SMYTEC (NIOAEJ\GUA) AT MELBOURNE, 313 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Smyth at Lake Sorel—Goes to Melbourne—I buy the Police Magistrate’s Ilorse— 
Letter from Nicaragua—' The TVaterlily—Plan of Escape—Plan Discovered- 
Council of War—Arrest of Nicaragua —I visit Hobart-town—Resolution taken 
—New Plan of Escape—We ride into Bothwell—I revoke my Parole before the 
Magistrate—Conversation in Police Office—Offer Myself for Arrest—Adieu to 
Bothwell—A Day’s Hard Riding—A Winter’s Night in the Forest—Job Simms’ 
Cottage—The Beard Movement—An English Guide—Meet a new Friend on the 
Mountains—Ride to Westbury—News of Nicaragua—The Police Force on the 
alert. 

Bothwell , January lGth, 1853.—Smyth (or, as wc prefer to call 
him, JYicaragua, from his Central American labors) has gone to Mel¬ 
bourne, to negotiate about a ship, Hobart-town being considered more 
dangerous, as well as offering fewer facilities. I brought him up by 
Lake Sorel, thence down the mountains to the great northern road. 
We expect to hear how his mission speeds there within a month or 

six weeks. 

John Knox agrees to avail himself of this chance also, seeing that 
be and I both live in the same district, and have one common police- 
office to deal with. 

If the thing succeed, I must leave my family at Nant Cottage, to 
follow under Nicaragua’s escort, as best they may, to San Irancisco. 
Yet my wife does not shrink from all this risk and inconvenience. 
She sees all the terrible evils and disadvantages of rearing up a family 
in such a country as this, and under such circumstances as ours ; and « 
instead of dissuading, urges me strongly on the enterprise. Of course 
'we say nothing about our intention to any of our acquaintances here ; 
as success must depend entirely upon utter secresy, until the moment 
of making our formal communication to the authorities. 

Feb. 12th. _No intelligence yet from Melbourne. A good horse 

tein«- essential to our business, in addition to our present stock, I 
° 14 


314 


JAIL JOUliiSAL. 


have been on the lookout lor one. Mr. Davis even, the police ma¬ 
gistrate himself, had one ol the best in this district a 'white hoise, 
half Arab, full of game, and of great endurance. I knew Mr. Davis 
had offered him for sale 5 and the idea pleased me, of buying my 
enemy’s horse to ride oil upon j which would have the double ad¬ 
vantage of strengthening me, and of weakening the enemy. Accord¬ 
ingly I secured the horse. Mr. Davis, on delivering him, very con¬ 
scientiously thought it his duty to give me a warning. “ I must tell 
you, Mr. Mitcliel,” he said, “ that if you attempt to put this horse 
into harness he will smash everything—he never was in harness but 
once, and it would be dangerous to try it again. 1 said, I was aware 
of that peculiarity in the horse. “It is right,” he continued, “ to 
mention the fact to you, as I do not know the precise work you want 
him to do.” “ Merely to carry me on his back, wherever I want to 
go—some time or other probably on a long journey.” “ Well,” said 
Mr. Davis, “ I know you ride a good deal j and you may depend upon 
Donald for that.” 

So I have my new horse out at Nant; and intend to give him re¬ 
gular work and feed him well, that he may be ready when called upon 
for his long journey. 

March 1 8th .—At length, a letter from the indefatigable Nicaragua, 
lie says “ he has made up his party for the diggings, and that all 
goes well with him ”—by which I understand he has succeeded in 
procuring a ship. Farther he says, “that he is to meet the rest of 
his party of diggers at the Bendigo Creek ” (which is at present the 
favorite gold region), “ three days hence ;” which is nothing more 
or less than a notice that he will meet John Knox and me at Lake 
Sorel on the day specified. 

2 5th .—We rode up to the Lakes on the appointed day, met Nica¬ 
ragua, accompanied by John Connell, of the excellent family of the 
Sugar Loaf. All is right. The brigantine Waterlily, owned by 
John Macnamara, of Sydney, is to come into Hobart-town, clear 
thence for New Zealand, then coast round to Spring Bay, on the 
eastern side of the island, about seventy miles from Bothwell, and 
lie there two days, under pretence of taking in timber. At Spring 
Bay there is, of course, a police-station ; but it never has more than 
three or four constables; and we are to count upon disposing of 
them by bribery or otherwise. Mr. Macnamara, the owner, comes 
himself with the ship, and will go round in her to Spring Bay to see 
us safely off. 


OUR PLAN DISCOVERED. 


315 

Nicaragua takes Fleur-de-lis, and rides down to Hobart-town to¬ 
morrow. 

April 9th. —All is ready. The Waterlily sails from Hobart-town 
to-morrow, and will be in Spring Bay on Sunday night, at anchor, 
with Mr. Macnamara’s flag (a red cross with the letter M in one 
corner). Knox and I, who are entirely passive, and do what Smyth 
bids us, are to present ourselves on Monday, in the police-office, 
withdraw our parole, and offer ourselves to be taken into custody. 
Nicaragua brings with him live friends, all armed, as good lookers- 
on. If we escape the clutches of the Bothwell police, we are to ride 
straight to Spring Bay, a relay of horses being provided lor us at 
half the distance, arrive there during the night, and be ready to 
embark at dawn. Then, up anchor, and away for the Golden Gate. 
If the police-boat at Spring Bay attempt to board, the captain engages 
to run her down, or sink her if needful. 

Monday eve/ting, Bothwell .—At Bothwell still. Our plot blovn 
to the moon! Yesterday we were informed, through a friendly 
resident at Bothwell, that Nicaragua’s whole plan has been inti¬ 
mately known to the governor for a fortnight—that the ship we were 
to embark in was known—the place where we were to embark—the 
signal we were to use—the friends who were to accompany us—that the 
Waterlily was purposely allowed to clear out at Hobart-town, 
without examination, for Neiv Zealand ; and finally, that a rein¬ 
forcement of constables had been sent up from Hobart-town to Both- 
well, together w T ith two additional chiefs of police, to be in readiness 
for any°move on our part. This morning I discovered that two 
armed constables had kept watch all night on the hill behind the 
cottage. 

Council of war at Nant to-day. We had not, of course, calculated 
on having to deal with more than the ordinary force of constabulary 
stationed” in Bothwell district : the attempt had always been re¬ 
garded as contingent on our intention remaining a profound secret 
till the last moment. And certainly the police magistrate having 
charge of the district, and having at his command a force pur¬ 
porting to be sufficient for all police purposes within that district, 
for the”coercion, if needful, of all the prisoners in it,—had no right 
to such odds against us. If we should go in, and attempt to do our 
business in the mode intended, there would be, in the first place, a 
conflict in Bothwell street; and if we succeeded at Bothwell, against 
all odds, there would, doubtless, be another force at Spring Bay, 


316 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


where the vessel itself might be already in the hands of the 
police. 

If we thought proper, indeed, to dispense with the formal business 
before the magistrate, there was nothing to prevent our riding away 
from Nant this day (or auy other day), notwithstanding the vigilance 
of the constable patrol; and.the government, in that case, would 
certainly never hear of us again; for, with good horses, and all the 
population at our side, we might remain a year on the island in 
their despite, until another ship could take us up at some point. But 
neither Martin nor I admitted this idea for one moment. 

Council of war, therefore, decided that the enterprise could not be 
attempted this day, or by the help of the Waterlily. Our friends 

dispersed, 0. Iv-northward, It-and C-south. Smyth and 

Connell have started for Spring Bay to send the ship off ; and all is 
over for the present. 

But Nicaragua and I are determined to have another trial for it. 

April 12th .—Note from John Connell. Nicaragua has been ar¬ 
rested. He found a large force of constables waiting for him at 
Spring Bay ; they surrounded the hotel the moment he had dis¬ 
mounted, and took him into custody as John Mitchel. Connell had 
parted from him, before reaching Spring Bay, and had, fortunately, 
carried off his papers. In vain Nicaragua protested he was not John 
Mitchel: he was thrust into the watch-house, and kept there all 
night. From the windows he saw the little Waterlily in the bay, 
with the signal at her mast-head ; she was waiting for us still. He 
was thence carried in custody, through the forest, to Hobart-town, 
and lodged in the police offices on his journey. The chief constable 
of Richmond knew me by sight: he volunteered his evidence that 
they had the wrong man; but the magistrate of Richmond would 
not hear his testimony, would not interfere in any manner with 
the execution of the warrant, and so, poor Nicaragua was 
passed on. One night he travelled all night, in an open spring- y 
wagon, and the weather is becoming very cold ; so that, by the time 
he arrived in Hobart-town, as well from excitement and disappoint¬ 
ment as from hardship, he was in a high fever. After being kept 
some hours in custody at Hobart-town, he was discharged without a 
word of apology or explanation, save that it was all a mistake. He 
now lies extremely ill in the house of a worthy friend of ours. 

13///— Hobart-town .—I rode down, yesterday, to see how it fared 
with Nicaragua: found him ill enough, but convalescent. I went 





RESOLVE ON ANOTJIER EFFORT. 317 

straight to tlie police-office; saw the gentleman who officiates as police- 
clerk ; told him I understood there was a warrant against me if so, 
here I was ;—that I understood a gentleman had been arrested in roy 
name ; that I wanted to know who had issued this warrant, and lor 
what reason ; and that I requested him to go and inform the Police 
Magistrate I was here. He said it was all a mistake 5 and treated it 
as a good joke. However, I told him I could not see the jocoseness 
of it—and neither could Mr. Smyth—that I conceived the arrest of 
Mr. Smyth for me, at Spring Bay, was not only an outrage upon 
him, but upon me still more :—that they were all aware I had 
promised not to leave the island without first giving the piopci 
authorities the opportunity of arresting me ; but this proceeding 
assumed that I was making my escape clandestinely, and, therefore, 
disgracefully. Mr. Midwood said, if I would be good enough to sit 
down he would go and tell the Police Magistrate I was here, and 
what I had said. In a few minutes he came back, accompanied by 
two other well-dressed men, whom he introduced to me by names 
which I forget. I asked who they were—“ Chief Constables ol 
Hobart-town.”—“ And you have come to take a look at me ?• ’ Chief 
Constables bowed. 

I came back to Nicaragua’s bed-side, much exasperated. He 
agrees with me, that the setting a watch upon my house, and the 
issuing of a warrant to apprehend me in the act of ‘‘ absconding, ’ 
are most insulting proceedings, especially as the rascals must know 
- that neither these precautions, nor any other precautions could ha\ e 
retained me on the island for the last three years, nor for one week, 
if I had thought fit to abscond. He also is grievously outraged on 
his own account; and we have therefore resolved, so soon as. he is 
sufficiently recovered, that we two alone will pay our formal visit to 
Mr. Davis’s office (with revolvers in our pockets)—and, if necess oVTr , 

take our chance for a ship afterwards. 

June 6th .—Nearly two months have gone by since the arrest of 
Nicaragua. He recovered his health and strength slowly. He is at 
present 3 with us in Nant Cottage 5 -and the day after to-morrow we 
shall probably proceed to business. A ship bound for Sydney is to 
sail on that night from Hobart-town 5 and if we can reach Ilobart- 
town after dark, the agents of the ship, who are friendly to me, will 
place me on board at the mouth of the river, after all clearances by 
police and custom-house authorities. Nicaragua has been judiciously 
bribing so far as was prudent; but with ail he can do in this v ay, 


318 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


the odds against us will be heavy at all times in the police-office. 
John Knox has decided on keeping out of the affair this time ; because, 
if we miss the vessel at Ilobart-town, we might then have to spend 
several weeks on the island; and be subjected to much hardship (for 
it is now the depth of winter), and assume various disguises,—for all 
which he is not well adapted. 

8th .—The town is full of police to-day—we put the business off 
till to-morrow. In the meantime I send James down to Hobart- 
town, to ask the agents if they could delay the ship for a few hours 
longer. Whatever be the answer, however, we mean to see the affair 
out to-morrow. By the prudent employment of some money, Nica¬ 
ragua has made sure that there will not be more than the ordinary 
guard of constables present. We would bribe them all, if we dared 
trust the rascals. As matters stand, we are certain to meet not only 
the Police Magistrate himself, but also the Police-clerk, a respectable 
man, not purchasable by money, and at least two constables, neither 
of whom has been bribed, and both of whom will, probably, under 
the eye of the magistrate, attempt to do their “ duty.” 

12th.—In Westbary district , full seventy miles from Bothwcll. 
On the 9th, as we had resolved before, Nicaragua and I mounted at- 
Nant Cottage—he on Donald, I on Fleur-de-lis. The eldest of the 
boys walked through the fields into Bothwell, that he might be ready 
at the police-office door to hold our horses. Before we had ridden a 
quarter of a mile from the house, we met James (boy number two), 
coming at a gallop from Hobart-town. He handed me a note from 
the shipping agent. Ship gone : it was impossible to detain her any 
longer without exciting suspicion; and the shipping agent conjured 
me to give the thing up or defer it. 

As we now stood, therefore, there was no arrangement for escaping 
out of the island at all ; and if we got clear out of the police-office, 
it was a matter of indifference to me whether I should ride north, 
south, or east. Westward lay impassable wilderness'. 

Wc overtook Mr. Russell of Dennistoun, on our way into Bothwell. 
He asked me, with some interest, what prices I had got for certain 
grass-fed wethers which I had sold a few days before—also, whether I 
meant to put any of my land in crop for the ensuing season;—to all 
which I replied with much agricultural sagacity and pastoral expe¬ 
rience. All the while I saw John Kuox, and the boy number one, 
hurrying along near the river bank, that they might be in the town¬ 
ship as soon as I. 


SCENE AT POLICE OFFICE. 


319 


At the entrance of the village Mr. Russell parted company with us, 
and called at a house. Nicaragua and I rode leisurely down the main 
street. At the police-barrack, on the little hill, we saw eight or nine 
constables, all armed, and undergoing a sort of drill. At the police- 
office door there was, as usual, a constable on guard. Mr. Barr, a 
worthy Scotch gentleman, and magistrate of the district, was stand¬ 
ing within a few yards of the gate. 

We dismounted. I walked in first, through the little gate leading 
into the court, through the door, which opened into a hall or passage, 
and thence into the court-room, where I found his worship sitting as 
usual. Near him sat Robinson, the police-clerk. “ Mr. Davis,” I 
said, “ here is a copy of a note which I have just dispatched to the 
Governor—I have thought it necessary to give you a copy.” The 
note was as follows :— 

“ JBoihwell , Wi June, 1858. 

“ To THE LlEDT-GrOV., &C. 

“ Sir,—I hereby resign the * ticket-of-leave,’ and withdraw my parole. 

“ I shall forthwith present myself before the police-magistrate of Loth well, at his 
office, show him a copy of this note, and offer myself to be taken into custody. 

“ Your obedient servant, 

“ John Mitchel.” 

Mr. Davis tobk the note : it was open. “Do you wish me,” he said, 
“ to read it?” “ Certainly. It was for that I brought it.” He glanced 
over the note, and then looked at me. That instant Nicaragua came 
iu. and planted himself gt my side. His worship and his clerk both 
seemed somewhat discomposed at this: for they knew the “ Corre¬ 
spondent of the New York Tribune ” very well, as also his errand 
from New York. I have no doubt that Mr. Davis thought I had a 
crowd outside : there is no other way of accounting for his irresolu¬ 
tion. 

Then I said, “ You see the purport of that note, sir : it is short and 
plain : it resigns the thing called ‘ ticket of leave,’ and revokes my 
promise which bound me so long as I held that thing.” 

Still he made no move, and gave no order. So I repeated my ex¬ 
planation : “ You observe, sir, that my parole is at an end from this 
moment ; and I came here to be taken into custody pursuant to that 
note.” 

All this while there was a constable in the adjoining room, besides 
the police clerk, and the guard at the door ; yet still his worship made 


820 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


no move. “Now, good morning, sir, 77 I said, putting on my Iiat. 
The hand of Nicaragua was playing with the handle of the revolver 
in his coat. I had a ponderous riding-whip in my hand, besides 
pistols in my breast pocket. The moment I said, “ Good morning, 77 
Mr. Davis shouted, “No, no—stay here! Rainsford! Constables! 77 
The police clerk sat at his desk looking into vacancy. We walked 
out together through the hall 5 the constable in the District-consta¬ 
ble’s office, who generally acts as his clerk, now ran out, and on being 
desired to stop us, followed us through the court, and out into tho 
street, but without coming very near. At the little gate leading out 
of the court into the street, we expected to find-the man on guard on 
the alert between ns and our horses. But this poor constable, though 
he heard the magistrate’s orders, and the commotion, did not move. 
He was holding two horses, one with each hand, and looked on in 
amazement while we passed him, and jumped into our saddles. 

We concluded that we had done enough, and that there was no 
reason to wait any longer j therefore, 

We gave the bridle-rein a shake; 

Said adieu for evermore, my dear; 

And adieu for evermore ! 

* 

Mr. Davis and two constables rushing against one another, with 
bare heads, and loud outcries ;—grinning residents of Bothwell on 
the pathway, who knew the meaning of the performance in a moment 
—and who, being commanded to stop us in the Queen’s name, 
aggravated the grin into a laugh ;—some small boys at a corner, star¬ 
ing at our horses as they galloped by, and offering “ three to one on 
the white un 5”—this is my last impression of Bothwell on the banks 
of the Tasmanian Clyde. 

We crossed the river just below the town, and held on at full speed 
for a mile to the southwestward 5 then, finding ourselves fairly in the 
forest, we pulled up, exchanged horses and coats, and parted : Nica¬ 
ragua, on Fleur-de-lis, rode due north for Nant Cottage, intending to 
call there a moment, and then go to Oatlands, to take the coach for 
Launceston. I rode on about half-a-mile farther into the woods, and 

found, according to appointment, my good friend J—r- H-, son of a 

worthy English settler of those parts, an experienced bushman, who 
knows every nook in the island, and “ every bosky bourne from side 
to side,” and who had undertaken to guide me by shortest and ob¬ 
scurest paths to any point I desired. Brief was- our consultation ; 




A DAY’S nAP,D RIDING. 


321 


V 

the Hobart-town ship having sailed, all parts of the island were alike 
to me ; and in all I was sure to find friends. We determined to 
strike northwards, and over the mountains to this district ef West- 
bury, which is chiefly inhabited by Irish immigrants, and where we 
should be within, a day’s ride of Bass’s straits. Where we stood then, 
we were a hundred and thirty miles from the sea in that direction ; 

but our horses were fresh. II-laughed at the idea of pursuit; and 

I, with the load of that foul ticket-of-leave fairly shaken off, and my 
engagement discharged, felt my pulse begin to beat again with some¬ 
thing like life. To be sure, I must yet be some weeks in the country 
before Nicaragua could get a ship and bring it round for me. Nicara¬ 
gua himself might be arrested ; and, at any rate, he does not yet 
know what direction I have taken. Also the. government would bo 
sure to send special dispatches all round the coast, to put their police 
on the alert, to guard every landing-place, and watch every boat; yet 
I was quite secure. Having once shaken the Bothwell dust ofl my 
feet, and resolved not to be retaken alive, I felt myself already a 
free man. 

It was almost mid-winter. The weather was bright and clear—no 
snow on the ground, but keen frosts at night; on the whole, favorable 

for hard riding. H- immediately took me out ol all oidinaiy 

tracks, and we plunged into the wilderness of rocky wooded hills, 
westward of Bothwell, where I had sometimes hunted kangaroo. 
After ten miles’ hard riding we came to the track leading Iloui 
Bothwell to the Shannon river : crossed this track after rcconnoiter- 
ing the road a moment, and then pierced once more into still wilder 
and more desolate hills. For about two miles, we rode along the ridge 
that bounds the Shannon valley, and, for the last time, I saw the gleam 
and heard the dashing of that bright river then, turned northeast, 
continually ascending in the direction of Lake Sorel. High up among 
the mountains, we had to plunge for three miles through the dieaiy 
“ Soldier’s Marsh ” (so named from two soldiers killed there of old 
by the bushrangers}. The marsh was frozen over ; so that our horses’ 
feet did not always break.the ice, but occasionally slipped over it, 
_ a progress both perilous and slow ; and after thirty-five miles tra¬ 
velling we found the night darkening round us, and Lake Sorel not 
yet gained. At last, we heard the barking of the stock-keeper’s dogs 
at <• Kemp’s Hut,”—avoided it by keeping to the left: and held on our 
way for six miles farther alon'g the western shore of the Lake. 

It was dark as Erebus; and we had still to go through the most 

14 * 




JAIL JOURNAL. 


0,00 
u/uJ 

difficult part of tlie journey to tlie Lake-river, where we proposed to 
spend the night at the hut of Mr. Russell’s shepherd. There was a 
high, steep, and rocky mountain to descend, where even in daylight 

the track is not easy to find ; and II-thought it prudent to call 

at a hut on the shore, to procure a guide. There were three men in 
the hut, the first human beings we had seen since we left Bothwell. 

They told H-it would be dangerous to attempt the descent on so 

dark a night; and, with the customary shepherd hospitality of those 
Arcadian swains, invited us to share their fire and opossum-rugs. 
But we were too near Bothwell yet for this. So we got one of them 
out to show us the best way to the “ saddle ”—that is, the watershed 
between Lake Sorel and the Lake-river,—from whence we thought 
we could make our own way. 

The guide lost himself, and, of course, lost us. Told us that, after 
all, we had better come back, and that, at any rate, he would go back 
himself. We thanked and paid him for his services, and then tried 
to feel our way over the edge of the mountain. We found ourselves 
evidently descending, yet certainly off the track, and on very rough 
ground, where to dismount and lead the horses was an absolute neces¬ 
sity. Presently, we came amongst precipices and fields of loose rock, 
a mere wilderness of shattered stone, but still thickly wooded; for 
this gum-tree seems to live by breathing through its leaves instead 
of drawing nourishment from the soil. The horses began to stumble 
against us in the darkness, striking us now with their forefeet, and 
again knocking us down with their heads. It was midnight; the frost 
was intense ; we had no overcoats or other muffling ; neither ourselves 
nor our horses had eaten anything since breakfast; there was no 
herbage, and the horses were starving ; no water near us, and we 
were devoured by thirst. Yet we heard far below us, through the - 
still night, the rush of the Lake-river, and, now and then, the barking 
of old Job’s dogs. 

Ncitlie rbackwards nor forwards could we move one yard : and there, 
within three miles of our proposed shelter for the night, we were 
forced to make our dismal bivouac. We lighted a fire with some dead 
branches (for no true bushman goes without matches) ; tied our 
poor horses to a honeysuckle-tree ; looked to our pistols ; picked the 
least polygonal stones to sit down upon; lighted our pipes, and 
prepared to spend eight hours as jovially as possible. Soon, sleep 
oi ertook us, from utter exhaustion, and we would lie a few minutes 
on the sharp stones by the fire until awaked by the scorching of our 




JOB SIMMS’ HUT. 


323 


knees, while our spinal marrow was frozen into a solid icicle. Then 
we would turn our backs to the tire, and sleep again ; but, in five 
minutes, our knees and toes were frozen, our moustaches stiff with 
ice—our spinal marrow dissolving away in the heat. Then up again 
—another smoke, another talk. 

The dawn reddened at last; and the mountains beyond Arthur’s 
lakes to the west glowed purple. We expected to fin d the horses 
stiffened and half dead ; for they were both accustomed to be stabled 
and bedded at night—and this was the most savage night I had ever 
experienced in the country. But well-bred Van Diemen’s Land horses 
have great life and unconquerable pluck: they were fresh as the 
dawn 5 we soon found the track, and in half an hour rode up to old 
Job’s door. 

It happens that Job’s house was the first place Meagher had stopped 
at for rest and refreshment a year and a half ago, on his ride from 
Lake Sorel; and the moment Job saw me he knew what business was 
in hand. He received us joyfully, bade his wife prepare breakfast, 
and we went with him into the stable to get our horses fed. Then 
breakfast before a roaring fire. 

. Meagher, it seems, had shaved off his moustache here for the better 
disguise ; so, after breakfast, Job presented me with a razor, looking- 
glass, basin and soap, wherewith I made a complete transfiguration 
of myself. I wrote a short note to my wife to tell her which way I 
had taken, and without the least hesitation entrusted it to Job Sims, 
who was to go over to Bothwell the next day with some cattle for Mr. 
Russel], and who undertook to deliver the note personally at Nant. 
This man is an Englishman, and has been an old prisoner ; yet I know 
he would not sell that note to the enemy for a thousand pounds. 
Mounted after three quarters of an hour’s delay ; and Job rode with 

us two miles to show us the ford of the Lake-river. After that H- 

and I held on over a rough mountain, but with a pretty well defined 
track. We intended to make first for the house of a Mr. Grover,* 
•whose son, a well-affected Tasmanian native, was known to be ready 
to aid me in any such affair. Neither of us had ever seen this young 
Grover; his father is a magistrate of the colony ; but we had no 
hesitation about going straight up to the house. 

As we slowly descended the narrow track, at a sudden turn among 
the trees, we encountered two gentlemen, riding up the mountain. 
We exchanged salutations and passed, when H-said to me, “I 


* Grover is not the gentleman’s real name. 




824 


JAIL JOURNAL. 

never saw Charles Grover, but I am almost sure the elder of those two 
is he.”—The “ natives ” of this island generally know one another by 
some sort of free-masonry—a circumstance which I had not, at that 
moment, time to investigate and trace philosophically. “ We must 

not let him pass,” said II - . “ Then coo-ee to him.” II - sung 

out the coo-ee loud and clear ; and in a minute the two gentlemen 
were seen riding back to meet us. “ You are Mr. Charles Grover,” 

said II-. “ Yes.” “This is Mr. Mitchel.” lie asked two or three 

eager questions; found out in a moment how the case stood ; asked 
if our horses were fresh, and •where w r e intended to stop that night. 
The horses were tired ; we were making for Mr. Wood’sf place in 
Westbury. Our new friend instantly turned with me 5 gave up the 

business, whatever it was, that urged him to his journey ; told H- 

he might go back to Bothwell, and leave me with him; made 
his companion give up his horse to me, and mount Donald, with 
directions to take him to his (Grover's) father's house, to be cared 
for after the journey; and then started off with me, to bring me by 
the most secret road to Mr. Wood’s. “ I am glad I met you,” he said, 
“ because it will save you the necessity of calling at my father’s 
house ; the governor, you know, is a magistrate ; and it is as well not 
to run risks.” 

Most gratefully and affectionately I parted from II-, who turned, 

intending to go back, for that night, to Job’s ; and next day, by a 
circuitous route, to Bothwell. For me, I committed myself, without 
a moment’s thought, to the care of my new acquaintance. We rode 
on merrily, got out of the mountain region, and skirted along the 
base of the great “ Western Tier,” at its northern side. Before dusk 
avc rode into the yard of a large and handsome house, where a tall 
gentleman came to meet us. It was Mr. Wood. “ Here is our friend,” 
said Grover (I had never seen Wood before), “ Mr. Mitchel.” “ Ah !” 
he said, quietly, “ I have been expecting you here, these two months.” 

Last night I spent with this gentleman and his amiable family. 
But, as there is a police-station within a hundred yards of his gate, 
and, as the police of Westbury were certain to be on the watch all 
over the district, from this day or to-morrow, it was thought best to 
remove me this morning to the farm-house of a fine young Irishman, 

named B-, six miles from Mr. Wood’s ; and here I am this day, 

awaiting news of the movements of Nicaragua, and Sir William 
Denison. 


t Wood is also a fictitious name. 








PROGEESB OF NICARAGUA. 


825 


June Yotli .—Mr. B. and liis wife are very kind to me ; keep me in 
great privacy ; seem almost proud to have the charge of so illustrious 
a patriot (as myself); and assure me I am safe enough here, for a 
month to come. However, I do not go out, even into the woods, 
except at night, and never without loaded arms. No news yet of 
Nicaragua. 

1GM.—News at last of Nicaragua. On the day he and I had parted in 
the woods near Both well, he arrived safely at Oatlands, but was hotly 
pursued ; left Fleur-de-lis, a well-known mare of mine, in the stable 
of the inn, reeking with sweat ; made urgent inquiries whether he 
could have a horse to travel eastward to Spring Bay ;—then, at 
night, left the hotel, through the garden ; climbed over several walls 
at the back of the houses; came round to the road outside the village ; 
waited for the coach, and travelled norfAward to Launceston, where 
he is now, duly shaved and disguised. 

At Bothwell there was violent excitement. Seven mounted police 
were instantly despatched thence, to scour the country on all sides, 
in pursuit. They traced Nicaragua to Oatlands ; found my Fleur-de- 
lis in the stable ; learned that the gentleman had asked for a horse 
to carry him to Spring Bay ; and, accordingly, all that region is 
diligently scoured, and vedettes, on the promontories of the coast, 
are exchanging anxious signals. 

I find, also, that Mr. Davis, at Bothwell. charged one of the con¬ 
stables who were present (an Englishman), with failing in his duty, 
by not securing me, when ordered ; and, further, charged him with 
having been bribed. Me therefore dismissed him; whereupon, 
the man got drunk on the spot, and spent the evening invoking three 
cheers for me. It is not true that this poor fellow was bribed : but I 
wish he had been 5 for, it is now clear he was open to a bribe, wanted 
a bribe, and deserved a bribe. 

The Westbury police are patrolling night and day, for my sake ; 
but this is no more than the constables of all other districts are doing ; 
evidently, all trace of me is lost; and the government folk have no 
reason for supposing me to be in this district, rather than any other. 
At any rate, in any case, whatever may befal me, I feel absolutely 
out of the enemy’s power. The end of the enterprise now, must be 
America or a grave. 


S26 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Nicaragua in Ilobart-town — The “ Don Juan ”—Rendezvous at Emu Bay— 
Winter Floods—Emu Bay inaccessible—Express to the “Don Juan”—Ride to 
Port Sorel—Savage Country—Home of an Irish Settler—Irish Customs—A 
Caoine in the Bush—Crossing a Ravine—Another Night in the Woods — The Sea 
at last!—No “Don Juan”—At Mr. Miller’s—Miller an Englishman—Retreat 
within a Mile of a Police-Barrack—Project to Sail as Miller’s Brother—Messen¬ 
gers from Launceston—Severe Riding—Boating-party proposed—Night Ex¬ 
pedition down the Tamar. 

Westbury , V. D. L., June 20th, 1853 .—I have been now a week 
at Burke’s farm-house, and in the closest privacy. Even the few 
friends in this district, who know of my whereabouts, do not dare to 

come to the house in day-light ; but the staunch O’K-, on whose 

own house a strict watch is kept by the police, contrived last night 
to evade their vigilance, by leaving home in the afternoon, riding 
first in some other direction, and then making a circuit, so as to 
come down upon Burke’s after midnight. With him came a Laun¬ 
ceston friend, who brought me a note from Nicaragua Smith. 
Nicaragua is now in Hobart-town, and has not been molested, 
although it is well kuown that he was with me at the Bothwell 
police-office; but >as no violence was actually done, nor even arms 
exhibited, there is nothing to endanger him. However, all his move¬ 
ments also, are under strict surveillance. 

He assures me, in his note, that the enemy have not the slightest 
suspicion of my having come to this part of the island ; and the 
impression is general that I am already at sea. Bets are pending in 
Hobart-town as to the direction I took—as to my having sailed, or 
not,—and, if so, by what ship. In the meantime, he is negociating 
about a brigantine, the “ Don Juan,” one of Mr. Macnamara’s ships. 
She is to sail shortly from Hobart-town. bound for Melbourne ; and 
he hopes to arrange it so that she will call on the north side of the 



RENDEZVOUS AT EMU BAY. 


327 


island, in some lonely bay, to take me up—I to make my way to the 
rendezvous as I best may. 

22 d .—Special messenger from Nicaragua. The “ Don Juan ” is to 
call at Emu Bay, five days from hence ; the distance is about eighty 
miles from my retreat; but there are four rivers to cross, and no 
road, no bridges. 

And, now, Fate has apparently declared against me ; for, within 
the last two days, Emu Bay has become totally inaccessible by land. 
The winter floods have begun. It has rained furiously in the moun¬ 
tains : and the Forth, Mersey, and Don, all fordable in the summer, are 
rushing down, now, in raging torrents, that would sweep us into the 
sea if we were mounted on elephants. 

Then, if we go down to the sea-shore, and attempt to pass west¬ 
ward, by crossing the mouths of the rivers in boats, a difficulty 
arises—there are, generally, no boats to be found there, except 
the police boats ; and every river-mouth is watched by constables 
who have all received a special warning to be on the look out for a 
man thirty-five years of age, or so, with dark hair, stature five feet 
ten inches, &c., &c. 

What is to be done? The “Don Juan,” will certainly call in at 
Emu Bay, and wait there two days. My Launceston friend devises 
a plan. lie has hurried off to Launceston, to employ the captain of 
a small coasting smack as a messenger to Emu Bay, with directions 
for the “ Don Juan ” to come eastward again, if the weather permit, 
and to lie off and on at a solitary beach, between West-head and 
Badger-head, a little to the west of the Tamar mouth. To that place 
I can go without crossing any river except the Meander. 

The plan does not look feasible, because the weather has grown 
wild, and the “ Don Juan,” if she can even leave Emu Bay, and 
coast eastward, may find it impossible to lie to, off that dangerous 
coast. It is determined, however, that I am to try the chance. 

The country between this place and Fort Sorel is wild, marshy, 
rocky, and desolate—all the better for our purpose, if we can only 
cross the Westbury road, and get through the settled country south 
of the Meander, without exciting suspicion. Our course is to be due 
north—the distance nearly seventy miles 5 we are to set forth about 
ten o’clock at night, and, if possible, to reach the sea the next day. 

Latest accounts from Bothwell tell me that all is well at Nant 
cottage ; all our good neighbors of Bothwell are delighted at my 
escape (which they think is an accomplished fact already), and kindly 


328 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


attentive to my family. My wife, however, knows that I am still on 
the island, and every morning expects to hear either of my embarka¬ 
tion, capture, or death. 

If I should even have the good fortune to get on board the “ Don 
Juan,” my adventures will have only begun. For she goes to 
Melbourne. At Melbourne there is doubtless a warrant against me, 
long since in the hands of the police, with description of eyes, hair, 
and stature; and, since the discovery of gold mines there, careful 
note is taken by the authorities, of every passenger and every sailor 
coming from Yan Diemen’s Land. Many captures are made every 
week. To get into Melbourne, and to get out of it again, will be 
about equally perilous ; but the “ work of the hour ” is to get out 
of Yan Diemen’s Land. 

24 th .—We start to-night. It is gloomy winter weather ; the 
country, having been first thoroughly drenched, is now frozen ; but 
the moon is out and on duty. I am to have a considerable cavalcade 

and body-guard: the two Burkes, Mr. Wood and his brother, O’K-, 

O’Mara, brother-in-law to my host, and Foley, a powerful Tipperary 
man, somewhere between six and seven feet high. If we meet a 
patrol of constables either on the journey or at the coast, the meeting 
will not serve the cause of “ law and order.” 

I have written two letters, one to my wife at Bothwell, one to my 
mother at New York—a kind of provisional adieu, indeed—for I 
scarcely hope to meet with this “ Don Juan ;” and, failing her, I shall 
have to disperse my party, and retire from the coast again with all 
speed and secresy. Mr. Wood, in that case, proposes to send me to a 
very remote “station” of his, among the mountains of the north¬ 
west, to spend the winter there, and let all thought of pursuit die 
out. 

Meanwhile, my kind hostess, Mrs. Burke, is busied in preparations 
for our departure, and in providing what is needful for our journey. 
Amongst other things, the good creature gets some lead and judi¬ 
ciously casts bullets. Her husband comes with us, as well as his 
brother ; and their father lends me a good horse. 

2 6 th.—Port Sorel, Bass’s Straits .—We are here, but the “ Don 
Juan” is not. The night before last, as had been arranged, about 
ten o’clock, after taking farewell of Mrs. Burke and her little boy 
(whose principal nurse I have been for a fortnight), I rode away 

accompanied by the two Burkes, O'K-, O’Mara, and Foley. We 

were to meet the Woods on the Westbury road, at a given point. It 




TIPTEEAEY IN TASMANIA. 


329 


was cold, but clear, and the moon shone brightly on the hoar-frost. 
Having been joined by the Woods, we rode nearly due north ; and 
Sometime after midnight descended through some dark and winding 
gullies to the valley of the Meander. Just on the farther bank, and 

in a very solitary place, stood the house of our friend O’K-. He 

is a respectable farmer, an intelligent, well-informed man, who 
emigrated hither, after Lord Ilawarden’s great extermination of 

tenantry in Tipperary. O'K-was one of the tenants turned out 

upon that occasion ; and saw his house pulled down, while all the 
neighbors on the adjoining townlands were warned not to shelter 
him, or any member of his family. Some natural tears he shed, and 
uttered some natural imprecations $ but shot neither landlord, nor 
agent, nor sheriff’s officer—which would have been natural too. 
With the help of some good friends he found means to emigrate 
hither, and has a good farm, far from Lord Hawarden; but still 
hates with a holy hatred (as in reason he ought) the British aristo¬ 
cracy and British government. Of course, he takes an interest in 
Irish rebels, and was Meagher’s faithful companion and guide on his 
last Tasmanian excursion. The river was high and rapid ; the banks 

were steep and rough ; but O’K-knew the ground and led the 

way; the flood dashed up to our horses’ shoulders ; but in a few 
minutes we had scaled the opposite bank, and galloped up to 
O’K-’s door. 

Here we halted to sup, and feed our horses. The family were asleep : 
but ere long, a roaring fire blazed, beefsteaks hissed, and at the head 

of his rough but kindly board, O'K-welcomed me (he hoped for 

the last time) to the hospitalities of the Tasmanian bush. 

One of the peculiarities of Westbury district is that you find Irish 
families, and whole Irish neighborhoods, associating together and 
seldom meeting foreigners: for even the assigned convict-servants 
whom these people select are all Irish. Thus they preserve, even in 
the second generation, Irish ways and strong Irish accent; and but a 
few weeks have gone by since, in this very house, on the death of 

O’K_’s old mother, a regular wake was held, and experienced 

crones raised a true caoine over the corpse, startling the cockatoos 
with their wild and unwonted iilulu. 

The two Woods are native Tasmanians, of English stock, and do 
not fully understand the Tipperary enthusiasm and Munster demon¬ 
strativeness of O’K- and his wife. They are men ot 'very laige 

property, bold horsemen, indefatigable bushmen, and seem to have 









330 


JAIL JOURNAL. 

come into our present enterprise for the sake of the excitement as 
well as from a sincere regard for Irish rebels. They sat smoking and 

looking on in silence, while O'K-narrated the black story of the 

clearing of his village in Tipperary. 

At last, it was time to mount once more. The moon had gone 
down and the night was dark. Seven miles farther on we found our¬ 
selves near a hut, which Mr. Wood recognized as the stock-hut of his 
nephew, young Lilly. He said the owner was in it, and insisted that 
w r e should all dismount, knock him up, and demand some tea. I 
objected, supposing that there might be other strangers in the 
house, and it was not expedient (seeing I w T as almost certain we 
should miss the “ Don Juan ”) that my journey in this direction 
should ecme to be known. In vain I objected. Wood only laughed, 
and said it was all right, and thundered wdth his hunting-whip on the 
hut-door. After some grumbling inside, the door v T as cautiously 
opened by a man with a gun. Four men were within, including 
Lilly, the proprietor, who had come that way to give directions to 
his stock-keepers. He quickly tumbled out of his opossum-rug, 
recognized my friends, but did not know me, and invited us all to 
partake the usual bush-fare. 

Though displeased at the delay and risk of blabbing, I went in : 
and we remained an hour ; so that dawn was breaking before we re¬ 
sumed our journey. Young Lilly was informed, before I left, of the 
nature of the excursion, and undertook to keep his shepherds, and 
also a strange shepherd w 7 ho was there, closely employed about the 
place for some days, lest they should spread abroad the intelligence 
that such a party of horsemen had been riding coast-ward upon such 
a night. 

When the morning reddened in the sky, we found ourselves in as 
wild and impervious a country as I have yet seen in Van Diemen’s 
Land—no mountains, but countless hills, divided almost uniformly 
by dangerous marshes ; rocks, dead trees, deep “ creeks ” with rotten 
banks; such, without intermission for forty miles, was the scene of 
our tedious travel. The only comfort was, that no constable would 
venture into those wildernesses in winter. 

Once O’K-,-who was mounted on a powerful black mare, sunk 

unexpectedly deep into a morass, covered with treacherous herbage. 
He flung himself off the saddle ; and, by dint of some desperate 
plunges, the mare was extricated. We came into a narrow gorge, 
very rocky and entangled with almost impassable scrub.” Down 




CROSSING A CREEK. 


331 


the gorge flowed, or rather oozed, through the slimy soil and pros¬ 
trate decayed trees, a kind of creek, which we must cross : but never 
in all my bush-riding had I seen so hideous and perilous-looking a 
task for a horseman. Last winter, the floods had been peculiarly 
heavy hereabouts 5 and the channel had been much deepened and 
widened. Inflnense dead trees lay along and athwart it in all 
directions ; the banks were high and composed of soft red soil; and 
in the bottom, wherever the bottom could be seen, there seemed to 
be nothing but unfathomable red mud. We struggled a full hour 
along the bank, looking for a point where it was possible to cross ; 
and every moment going farther out of our way, as was too appa¬ 
rent by the sun. 

O’Mara, who was mounted on a fine young bay horse, once dashed 
at the creek, shouting, Follow me ! He went down the slope safely 5 
and in a moment we saw the noble horse springing up against the 
opposite bank, O’Mara leaning'over his neck and urging him with 
spur and voice. He gave two or three tremendous bounds, but the soft 
earth always gave way under his feet ; and, at length, with his fore¬ 
feet pawing wildly in the air, down he went backwards to the bottom , 
but O’Mara, grasping a branch of a dead tree, swung himself from 
the saddle, and thus saved himself from interment in red slime under 
his horse. We spent an hour in extricating the poor animal, which, 
by dint of main force, we accomplished ; but it was too clear that was 
not a place for crossing. 

Over the creek, however, we made our way, and late last evening, 
came out from the hills upon the broad tide-water of the Tamar, near 
a small settlement called York. Avoiding the houses, wdiich might 
have contained disaffected persons,—to wit, constables,—we proceeded 
about a couple of miles into the woods beyond, but were still five 
miles from the sea-coast of Badger-head. 

Darkness came on ; and the country before us was almost impassa- 
able even in daylight; so we bivouacked in the wood. Fortunately 
it was a grassy place, and the horses could pick up something to cat. 
A\ r e lighted a good fire, roasted upon forked sticks certain pieces of 
mutton we had carried with us from 0 K s, finished the supply 
of brandy, and having duly smoked our pipes, fixed saddles under our 
heads for pillows, and slept. 

At day-break this morning we were astir ; for we all thought it 
quite possible that the “ Don Juan,” if her captain had received the 
message recalling him, might have been off the designated beach 



332 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


yesterday evening ; and if so, the wind of last night, blowing in 
towards the shore, would have obliged her to work as lar to seaward 
as possible $ otherwise, the rocks of Badger-head would be fringed 
with her shivered ribs this morning. It was calm and mild weather 
as we started from our lair ; and, after four miles’ very difficult jour¬ 
neying, through marshes, we heard the roar of the sea, and saw 
Badger-head towering to our left. Still, the water was invisible, for 
the shore was bordered by a line of high sand-hills, clothed with 
honcy-suckle trees and boobialla. We scaled the sand-hills 5 and 
there was the blessed sea 5—but as far as the eye could sweep it, not 
a sail! 

We gazed blankly into one another’s faces. Determined, however, 
to wait there all day, and look out for a sail. The coast here makes 
a fine sweeping curve between the two rocky promontories 5 and 
there is a broad smooth beach of sand. 

A vessel suddenly hove in sight, round the point of Badger-head. 
A brigantine 1 She was four miles off, and we had no doubt, from 
her apparent tonnage and rig, that she was the “ Don Juan.” She 
stood out to sea, and seemed to be coming out of the Tamar mouth, 
where she had probably taken shelter last night. 

Now we eagerly watched her movements, expecting every instant 
that she would tack. From the distance, we were unable to see 
whether she had Macnamara’s signal-flag at her mast-head : but w r e 
gathered some dried branches, and set fire to them and to the long 
grass that covered a sand-hill. Soon a pillar of smoke rose into the 
air that might have been visible thirty miles. The insensible brigan¬ 
tine made no sign, nor swerved from her steady course, steering 
direct for Melbourne. 

In an hour she was out of sight, and we took counsel what we 
should do next. There we could stay no longer, if only for want of 
food; and it was necessary that the party should separate. Mr. 
Wood renewed his proposal of sending me to his stock-station among 
the north-western mountains, where I might stay all winter as a 
stock-keeper. In the mean time we agreed to ride in the evening to 
the house of a gentleman named Miller, about nine miles to the west 
of us, on the shore of Port Sorel inlet; stay wuth him all night, and 
consult with him in the morning. 

The coast all along is totally uninhabited; and we did not see a 
human creature all day. Half a mile from Miller’s, we halted, and 
Wood rode on to make sure that no strangers were about the place. 


TAKE PwEFUGE AT MILLEE’s. 


333 


Miller, himself, returned with Wood. He had never seen me before ; 
but seemed delighted that we had come to him. He assured us that 
as he had no servants at that time, and as his house was quite off all 
tracks and roads, I might, if necessary, remain three months there 
unsuspected. On the other side of Port Sorel inlet, which is not half 
a mile wide at the mouth, stands a township, with police office, 
magistrate, and the rest of the apparatus ; and Miller says the last 
stranger wdio appeared at his house was a constable from Launceston, 
bearing the dispatch a fortnight ago to all the stations along that 
coast, announcing my departure from Both well, and enjoining vigi¬ 
lance for my sake. 

“All special messengers/’said he, “ bearing dispatches from Laun¬ 
ceston, must come to me, and request me to put them across the 
water in my boat, which is the only boat on this side. So, you see, it 
is all right; you can stay here in perfect safety.” 

O’lv-declared he could not see how this made all right; for 

said he, “'if our journey in this direction comes to bo known, as it 
must be in a few days, your next visitor will be another express 
constable.” 

“ The very thing,” said Miller, “ that we want. The fellow can’t 
go over without my help :—I can make him drunk here, and take the 
dispatch from him, or bribe him to return and say he delivered it; 
or drown him, if you like, in the passage.” 

This did not appear a very'satisfactory prospect; yet, as we must 
separate, and as the “Don Juan” may still appear to-morrow or 
next day, I have resolved to stay with Mr. Miller, and keep a look-out 
for her. All my escort are to go to their several homes to-morrow, 
and Burke is to communicate with Nicaragua Smith. 

Miller is an Englishman; long resident in London; but, like all 
the other honest people in this country, he cordially abhors Sir 
William Denison and his government, and will go any length in my 
service ; not, perhaps, that he loves me more, but that he loves Sir 
William less. 

27 th .—Before sunrise this morning, I went with 0 ‘K-, took an 

excellent telescope of Miller’s, and went over the sand-hills to get a 
view of the sea. Not a sail in sight. Wind steady from the north¬ 
west, and likely to remain so. This is a fair wind for the “Don 
Juan,” coming from Emu Bay towards Port Sorel ; but I begin now 
to despair of her. 

After breakfast, all my friends went off—-all promising to return 





334 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


if required. They leave me Burke’s horse, the same that I rode from 
Westbury. 

They had gone about four hours, and Miller and I were sitting on 
the sand-hills, smokftig, when a sail came in sight, from the west¬ 
ward ; we watched her eagerly, but she turned out to be a barque. 

Here, then, I remain, within a mile of a police-barrack : Miller’s 
land forms a point which runs out far to meet the opposite shore of 
the inlet: the point is well wooded ; and immediately on the shore 
the hills of sand are thickly fringed with a dense shrubbery of 
boobialla, a small, beautiful tree, rising to a height of seven or eight 
feet, and forming a close screen with its dark-green leaves, which great¬ 
ly resemble the leaves of the arbutus. From behind this shelter I 
cun see the sleepy-looking village, which seems to be peopled mostly by 
constables, sauntering about with their belts and jingling handcuffs. 

July 1 st .—Four day’s at Miller’s. No Don Juan : no news from 
Launceston, or from Nicaragua Smith. Though my host is well- 
informed and agreeable, I begin to execrate this lurking life. The 
suspense and terror at Nant Cottage must be grievous. I despise 
myself as I sit here behind my boobialla fence, and am very much 
inclined to cut short the business by some coup. Mr. Miller pro¬ 
poses a plan. He says, there is a vessel in the mouth of one of the 
rivers, fourteen miles west, taking a cargo of sawn timber on board 
for Melbourne. “She will be cleared,” continued Miller, “by our 
friend over the way, the Chief-Constable. Now, I have a brother in 
Melbourne, lately arrived from England. I have been expecting 
him here to visit me; and Mr. Nichols, the police-magistrate, and 
the Chief-Constable are aware of it, If you choose, I will bring you 
over to the village, the day before the ship is to sail ; introduce you 
as my brother to the worthy magistrate ; he will ask us to dine ; he 
will give you a certificate ; in the evening, you and I will go along 
with the clearing-officer himself, across the country to the river 
Forth. You will be put on board, in due form of law, as Henry 
Miller, and proceed upon your travels respectably.—Does the ma¬ 
gistrate, or any of the constables know your appearance ?” 

“ How can I tell? You know they are always changing the con¬ 
stables from one district to auother. However, I think my disguise 
is complete.” 

Miller ran to his boat, skulled across, and within an hour 
returned, laughing.—“ I have told Mr. Nicholls that you are here ; 
and I think he will feel that it is only civility to come over and visit 


HENRY MILLER. 


335 


you. I also mentioned you to the Chief of Police, telling him, that, 
although you have been so short a time here, you are tired of the 
country (which is true) and want to go to Melbourne again. I told 
him you did not much like the idea of travelling "back to Launceston 
to take your passage in one of the steamers, and asked him il there 
were not a good vessel shortly to sail from some of these rivers. 

‘ There is the Wave,’ said he—‘ the very thing for your brother.’ ” 

“ Well,” I asked, “ what more ?” 

“Why,” said Miller, “he is going over to the Forth to-morrow, 
will go on board the ship, and will bring us back full particulars as 
to the accommodations, fare, &c. Then you and I arc to dine with 
the police-magistrate on our way ; and the clearing officer will have 
an interview with you in the police office, and will make all smooth 
for my brother. This thing will do. Tou must come.” 

“ I agree to everything but the dinner-party at the Police magis¬ 
trate’s. I will not sit down at any man’s table under a feigned name : 
but let us impose on him otherwise, if you like.” 

“You agree, then, to go as my brother?” 

“Certainly. I am tired of skulking about: though your society 
and conversation, my dear fellow, are-.” 

“ Hurrah!” said Miller, running to tell his wife of our plan. He 
seems rejoiced, beyond measure, that he is to have the whole credit ol 
taking me off, when all my Irish friends had failed ; and swears he 
will go with me to Melbourne. To-morrow he goes across to the 
village again, to learn all the particulars about the cabin of the Wave, 
_<< p or we pmst pretend to be very fastidious about our accomo¬ 
dations.” 

2 d. _To-day he pushed his boat over again. “ It is all right,” he 

said, when he returned,—“ everything arranged. We sail on the 8th. 
The police magistrate will come over, in the meantime, to visit 

you.” 

So the matter stands, then. If I do not hear of some better 
arrangements made by Nicaragua Smith, or my friends in Launces¬ 
ton. before the Wave lifts anchor, I shall sail as Henry Miller. 

Miller has two magnificent kangaroo dogs. His son George and I, 
rode out to-day upon Badger-head, taking the dogs with us ; and, in 
the scrubby hollows of the promontory, we raised two kangaroos ; 
but, I grieve to say, lost them both. The “ scrub ” was too close for 
the do^s to run. We saw, on our return, three superb eagles, poising 
themselves on moveless wings, high in the air. The lambing season 



336 ■ JAIL JOURNAL. 

has commenced ; and these three murderers have come down from 
the mountains, to keep an eye upon Millers young lambs. 

5th July .—About eleven o’clock to-day, two horsemen were seen 
approaching through the trees, from the direction of Badger-head. 
An unusual sight*; for the last eight days, no human being has 
appeared on this side of Port Sorel, and when it had happened 
that the foot-prints of one solitary man had been seen on the sand, 
the very day we came here, the phenomenon kept Miller’s family 
speculating and wondering ever since. So there was commotion in 
the house, when one of the boys ran in, to tell us of the approaching 
horsemen. Miller locked me up in my own room, having first warned 
me to look to my pistols. He walked out to meet the .strangers. 
Presently I heard well-known voices, and came out:—the two Burkes 
have come, to bring me to Launceston. My indefatigable friend Dease, 

a merchant in that town, has bargained, it seems, with Capt.-, of 

the steamer-, to bring me from Launceston to Melbourne ; and my 

passage has been secured on board the steamer, in the name of Father 
Macnamara. I must be in Launceston to-morrow evening ; go on 
board at once, and remain there all night. Next morning the steamer 
sails. They tell mo no time is to be lost, for it begins to be rumoured 
that I am still on the island ; and the police have a nose keen in the 
scent of gain. 

Launceston is fifty-five or sixty miles off; and the country is, in 
this season, altogether execrable. They have only ridden to-day 
from the Tamar mouth (about fifteen miles), and propose that I start 
at once, and go so far this evening as to a certain hut they know. 
To-morrow to Launceston. 

Farewell, theu, to my kind English host and hostess : and once 
more in the saddle. Miller says that, after all, I had better go by the 
Wave, and be his brother Henry. 

8th .—On the Gth we slept, the two Burkes aud I, at a hut in the 
woods. On the 7th, a wet and stormy day, we made good our way, 
though with great labor and fatigue, to Launceston. Went to the 

house of-, and got rigged up instantly as a Catholic priest 

—shaved from the eyes to the throat, dressed in a long black coat, 
with upright collar, the narrow white band round the neck, aud a 
broad black hat, I waited for Mr. Lease to come for me, and brino* 
me on board the steamer. 

-Dease came, accompanied by Connellan of Hobart-town. 

This plot also miscarries ; aud they all fear the case is almost 







BOATING PARTY. 


337 


desperate. Capt.-says positively that he dares not take me on 

board at Launceston, nor even anywhere along the river on his way 
down, at least until after his ship has been cleared at Georgetown, 
forty-five miles below Launceston :—says the rigor of searching has 
been greatly increased since I left Bothwell, and that the police 
magistrate at Georgetown has got very special orders: so that he 
(the captain) cannot take me, even concealed in his own cabin—that 
retreat, which used to be a sanctuary, being now subject to the nar¬ 
rowest scrutiny. In short, he said, I must go down in an open boat, 
this night,—so as to find myself below Georgetown, between the 
very capes of the river’s mouth, to-morrow about three o’clock. 
There he will take me up. « 

Dease had come to tell me that a boat was ready for me, and that 
I must start at once. It -was a dreadful night, wet and stormy. I 
had ridden fifty miles, mostly through rain, rivers, and morasses, and 
was thoroughly tired. I declared I would go on board in the morn¬ 
ing openly at the quay, as Father Macnamara, and run all the risk ; 
but my friends overruled this, and almost carried me down to the 
river. 

It was profoundly dark. Two boatmen were waiting for us 
at the water side. Dease and Connellan came with me. I threw 
myself along the bottom of the boat, in ten minutes was fast asleep 
in the rain ; and so we started on our nocturnal expedition of about 
fifty miles. 

> 


* 





15 



338 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Another Disappointment—Plight down the River—Barrett’s Boat —We miss the 
Steamer—Back to Launceston—Ttie Chapel House—Father Blake —Meeting with 
O’Doherty—Father Blake at Hobart-town— Nicaragua —Mr. Davis unhappy— 
To Sail by the “ Emma ”—Farewell to Van Diemen’s Land — Sydney. 

Launceston , V. D. L., July 9th. —We have come hack here. Raf¬ 
fled again. 

To resume the story of our almost desperate attempt to get out of 
the river Tamar in an open boat: We were rowed nearly all night 
after leaving Launceston, and a little before dawn arrived at a point 
of the river (or rather sestuary), where it is above two miles in width. 
On the right bank, just here, lives a worthy colonist, named Barrett, 
to me unknown, but for whom my companions vouch as well affected. 
We put the boat ashore, and walking up to the house, in the dark, 
thundered at the door without ceremony. Barrett came down. We 
asked him for his boat (a good gig), aud people to pull it. intending 
to leave the little skiff that had brought us down at his place, until 
my friends should be returning up the river, after depositing me 
on board the steamer at the river mouth. 

The boat, the men, everything was at our service. We stayed an 
hour or two, breakfasted, and then Mr. Barrett volunteered to go with 
us himself, and to see me fairly at sea. There was good daylight 
when we started, and we had only sixteen or seventeen miles to go to 
Georgetown. So we dropped down the river at our leisure. It is a 
most winding and dangerous aestuary, varying in breadth from a 
quarter of a mile to three miles, bordered by hills, all covered with 
unbroken forest, except where a small farm has been cleared here 
and there. 

Before coming quite opposite to Georgetown, Mr. Barrett put me 
and Connellan ashore lor a while in the woods on the western bank, 


ANOTIIER DISAPPOINTMENT. 


339 


and went liimsclf over to the village, in order that he might see the 
chief of police, and give him some account (a false account of 
course) of his errand down there with his boat. Unless this precau¬ 
tion w'ere taken, he said, the police would assuredly take notice of the 
strange boat, and send an armed police boat to question us. 

We remained an hour in the woods ; Barrett was to return to our 
side at a point two miles lower down the river than the place we 
landed, to take us up there whenever the steamer should appear. 
He had scarcely pushed across to Georgetown before the black fun¬ 
nel and its streamer of smoke came round a wooded promontory 
within three miles. The usual custom is to delay these steamers 
about an hour at Georgetown, while they undergo a thorough and 
final search, so that we calculated on having abundance of time. 
The captain had directed us to be in the middle of the river iri the 
boat, after he should have got rid of the searchers, and he would lie 
to and take me on board. I had my priestly garments and broad- 
brimmed hat along with me, so as to enable me to act the character 
of Father Macnamara with proper dignity and sanctity. 

But w'hile Connellan and I were making our way to the point at 
which Barrett w-as to take us up again, and just after we had seen 
the police-boat come out to overhaul the ship, we saw, to our utter 
dismay, that the boat left her again instantly, and she, without stop¬ 
ping, steamed away down towards the heads. Barrett’s boat had 
not yet left Georgetown to come over for us : half an hour passed 
and the boat did not come. The steamer w r as now four miles down 
the river, and there, close by the lighthouse wrn saw her stop. 

Now, we thought all was right. Barrett’s boat at last approached, 
pulled with desperate energy by four men. We jumped in, and put 
off, still keeping our eyes on the steamer, when, at that moment, up 
went the steam again. The captain, evidently, had come to the con¬ 
clusion that something must have happened to prevent me from 
keeping my appointment; and he had w r aited full fifteen minutes. 
We were too far off to be visible from the ship, close under the shore 
as w r e w'ere; and, just as our rowers were stretching to their oars 
with all their force, the steamer moved slowly off before our eyes, 
swept round the lighthouse, and away on her straight course for 
Melbourne. 

The chance w r as lost. The sun set in a red and angry sky ; it was 
certainly to be a stormy night: and there we were, far from shelter, 
opposite one of the strongest and most vigilant police-stations of the 


340 


JAIL JOUENAL. 


island. Back to Launceston we must absolutely make our way, and 
that before morning. Moreover, as Mr. Dease, one of our com¬ 
panions, had been left in Georgetown, Barrett must call for him. I 
objected to go in the boat to Georgetown ; but said I would go on 
shore again with Connellan, on the west bank, and let Barrett come 
for me after taking up Dease. 

We, accordingly, went into the woods again, and watched the boat 
going across. Half-an-hour, at the utmost, w r ould suffice to bring 
her back. Half-an-hour passed, but no boat came. It was now 
dark. An hour went by, two hours, still no boat. We knew that 
something was wrong ; and conjectured that some of the boatmen 
Lad got drunk, and let out the secret. “ In that case,” said Con¬ 
nellan, “ the first boat that comes over will be a police-boat.” 
Another hour elapsed ; and we had made up our mind to sjiend the 
night in some very secret part of the forest, and walk next day, by 
West Head and Badger Head, back to my friend Miller, wdien we 
heard in the darkness the sound of oars working in their rowlocks. 
Presently the prow of a boat ran up against the gravelly beach ; but 
it was impossible to see anything at one yard's distance. I told 
Connellan to go down towards the place where we heard the sound, 
and if all was right to sing out coo-ee: but, if it was a police-boat, 
then to make no sound ; but try to rejoin me instantly. In the 
meantime I put caps on my pistols. 

Coo-ee / It was Barrett’s boat ; the delay was caused only by two 
of the boatmen getting drunk ; but there had been no blabbing, so far 
as Barrett knew. To my surprise, I found also Dan Burke of West- 
bury in the boat. He had taken his passage in the steamer, and was 
to have gone with Father Macnamara to Melbourne. Says that the 
steamer did not delay an hour as usual, only because the chief of 
police at Georgetown, called the “ clearing officer,” had happened to 
be in Launceston, had come down on board the steamer, and had 
made his researches on his way ; so, when the police-boat came along¬ 
side, he had nothing to do but drop into it, and go ashore. Burke 
says that the captain had then no pretext for delay—-that if he had 
stopped anywhere nearer to Georgetown, he would be sure to be 
visited again by the police—that when he did stop, down at the Heads, 
he had anxiously kept looking out with a glass to see whether our 
boat appeared ; and, at last, reluctantly had given us up. The failure, 
therefore, was not the captain’s fault, but is due, as usual, to “ the 
Fates and Destinies, the Sisters Three, and such branches of learnino-.” 

O* 


ANOTHER NIG-nT IN THE WOODS. 


341 


Burke himself had left the steamer at the Heads, and had come hack 
in the pilot-boat. 

We had a weary pull up the river again. The night came down in 
a horrible storm, and w r e were twice on reefs. Beached Barrett’s 
about one o’clock : took our Launceston boat and boatmen again ; 
bade adieu to poor Barrett, who is very desponding about my fate— 
these repeated failures being, as he thinks, a pronouncement of 
Heaven against me—and then we set out for Launceston. I was now 
fully resolved to stay no longer on the north side of the island, but to 
make my wa.y to Hobart-town, and put myself in the hands of some 
ship-owner to be smuggled away like contraband goods, as he in his 
wisdom should think best. 

The storm roared and raged more furiously every moment ; in the 
windings of the channel we were several times driven ashore ; yet, as 
the wind was with us, we kept the sail set, hoping to get up to the 
town before morning. The rain came down in torrents ; the woods 
groaned and even shrieked ; and, through the blackness of the night, 
we could see nothing but the glimmer of the white foam. When we 
were yet sixteen miles from Launceston a dreadful squall came down 
upon us, and before the men could drop the lug-sail we were driven 
violently ashore. 

The boatmen declared that they would not go to Launceston till 
the storm was over. We were in a perfectly trackless wood ; the earth 
was soaked, the trees w r ere dripping ; but we did not care for that, 
having been drenched to the marrow of the bones some hours before. 
Five or six hours we .spent ill those dismal circumstances, deriving an 
imperfect consolation from smoking ; but so thoroughly exhausted 
were we, that every one of us lay down and slept, under the pouring 
rain. 

Embarked again this morning : and, of course, reached Launceston 
in broad day. I was put ashore a mile from the town, and w r as to 
walk up, accompanied by Dan Burke, and proceed openly to the 
house of Father Butler, behind the Catholic Chapel, where the others 
were to meet me. 

There is nothing like coolness. We walked quietly into and 
through the town : and the man of five feet ten, dark hair, and so 
forth, passed, quite unchallenged, through the streets—probably, 
because there are so many men whom that description fits. In truth, 
if my wife had met me in that walk, she could not have suspected 
me. So I reached the worthy priest’s house safely. 


842 


JAIL J O U E N A L , 


When Connellan, Dease, and liis brother came, they all agreed with 
me, that the north side of the island has grown too hot to hold me. 
.The two Launceston boatmen, who have just brought us up, though 
my name was never mentioned before them, must, at least, suspect. 
Barrett’s men knew me well enough. Besides, the long journeys of 
the Burkes, to and fro, must have been noticed : and I, therefore, tell 
my friends that 1 am resolved to go straight to Hobart-town, and by 
the public coach. The distance is one hundred and twenty miles, 
the coach-road passes through seven or eight townships, and by a 
dozen police-offices. Yet, still relying on my clerical character, I 
think this safer than any other mode of travelling. 

Connellan has gone to take two places in the night mail, for the 
night after next, one for himself, and one for the Rev. Mr. Blake. In 
the meantime, the good Father Butler proposes to conceal me in the 
belfry of his church. How can I ever adequately acknowledge the 
great services rendered to me by all these kind people? 

12 th July. — Hobart-town .—The Rev. Mr. Blake has accomplished 
his perilous journey. The night coach started from Launceston at 
half-past five, p. m., when there is still daylight; and Father Butler 
would by no means hear of my going to the coach-office in the most 
public part of the town. He, therefore, lent me a horse, and rode with 
me out of town, to wait for the coach at Frankland village. As we 
rode on we approached a turnpike gate. “ Here,” said Mr. Butler, 
“ you can test your disguise. Clergymen, of all denominations, are 
privileged to pass the toll-gates free in Van Diemeu’s Land. If the 
man has no doubt about your being a priest, he will politely touch his 
hat to us both. But if he does not believe in your holy orders, it will 
cost you three-pence.” I saved the three-pence, and my dignified 
nod was as good as a blessing to the gate-keeper. 

When I bade adieu to Father Butler, and got into the coach, I 
found, besides Connellan, two other passengers inside. One of them, 
a man whom I had met and talked with, at least once before, and who 
certainly would have known me, had I been less effectually disguised, 
lie isT. MacDowell, late Attorney-General for the colony—a danger¬ 
ous neighbor. Not that I believe it would have been running any 
risk to confide the matter to him, but there was another stranger. 
Mr. MacDowell tried to draw me into conversation, asked me about 
“my bishop,” but I was shy, unsatisfactory, Jesuitical. " 

Towards morning, we passed the point of the mail-road nearest to 
Bothwell; within sixteen miles ; and I gazed wistfully up at the 


FATHER BLAKE. 


343 


gloomy ridge of the Den Hill. Beyond that hill, embowered among 
the boscages of Bothwell, lies my little ^wasi-kome, which my eyes 
will never see again, with all its sleeping inmates lulled by the mur¬ 
muring Clyde. 

The coach changed horses at Greenponds, as usual ; and everybody 
at Greenponds knows me by sight. Several men were about the 
coach ; they looked into it, and all over it, as if expecting to see 
some traveller. I took no note of all this, till Mr. McDowell said to 
one of them—“ Ah! you are up early ” (it was about four o’clock in 
a winter’s morning). “ Yes, sir,” was the answer, “on special duty.” 
I now looked more sharply at the man—it was the Chief-Constable 
of Greenponds, with some of his force. If it was for my sake, how¬ 
ever, they had risen so early, it was in vain, for not one of them 
recognized me : I looked as calm and mild as if JDeus vobiscum were 
on my lips ; but I was preparing to open the coach door farthest 
from the hotel at a moment’s notice, with one hand, and with the 
other took hold of a pistol in the pocket of my clerical soutane. 

We passed on. It was clear day this morning before we reached 
Bridgewater 5 and it would have been madness to proceed with the 
coach to the door of the Ship Inn at Hobart-town, where there is 
always a crowd of detectives ; so I left the coach, and went into the 
hotel to remain there all day, and take the evening coach into town. 
Connellan remained in his plaqe, and bade farewell very respectfully 
to Mr. Blake. He says Mr. McDowell looked somewhat keenly after me 
and observed, “Your reverend friend, Connellan, does not carry any 
luggage.” 

I spent the day walking along the Derwent, and amongst the 
woods ; dined at the solitary inn; and in the evening took a place 
outside on the coach which was to reach Hobart-town at eight 
o’clock. Six miles short of Hobart-town we stopped a moment at 
a hotel. St. Kevin O’Doherty climbed the coach, and sat down 
directly in front of me, looking straight in my face. A flood of light 
from the house was upon us at the moment. He had come out ex¬ 
pressly to meet me ; he knew I was to be dressed as a priest; yet I 
was a total stranger to him. Before going down into the centre of 
the town, I made the coachman pull up, left the coach, and walked 
through the dark streets (for the city is not lighted) to Connellan’s 
house in Collins street. I knocked at the door :—it was opened by 
Nicaragua. “ Is Mr. Connellan at home, sir ?” “ No, sir ; he has 


344 


JAIL JOURNAL. 

gone out to take a drive.” “ Will lie soon return ?” Nicaragua all 
this time was looking at me curiously and anxiously. Connellan, in 
fact, had gone to Bridgewater, in a gig for me : it was full time for 
him to return, and when a stranger came instead, poor Nicaragua 
thought all was over, that I had been taken, and that his visitor was 
a detective coming to search for papers,—such an atmosphere of 
“ preternatural suspicion ” do men breathe in this Tartarean island. 

I saw now that my disguise might carry me through a birthday ball 
at Government House. I walked into the hall, shut the door, went 
into the parlor, where lights were burning, took off my broad-brimmed 
hat, looked at Nicaragua, and laughed. Then he knew me. It was 
the first time we had met since we exchanged horses and coats in the 
wood behind Bothwell, just five weeks ago; and he has since had 
almost as much travelling and hardship as myself. 

lie has much to tell me: was up two or three days ago at Nant 
Cottage. All well there; every one in Bothwell, and all over the 
island, laughing at Mr. Davis, the police magistrate ; a song is sung 
now in those parts, celebrating his worship’s horse, Donald, that he 
lent his prisoner to escape upon. There are grave suspicidns over 
him; and many will continue to believe that I bought not the horse 
but the owner. This makes his worship nearly frantic ; and he has 
since converted his police-office into a kind of fortress, with two 
armed constables instead of one, always keeping guard at the door, 
who have the strictest orders never to hold any gejitle?naji , s horse. 
They have really been too careless at these offices, and I take some 
credit for reforming the discipline of this one. Mr. Davis declares 
he will exculpate himself before all Europe: he will appeal to the 
human species:—in the mean time he sternly awaits an attack from 
John Knox. 

Nicaragua himself goes everywhere without molestation, having 
been a mere spectator in the Bothwell affair, and not an actor ; but 
his motions are watched closely ; and on Connellan’s coming into the 
house, it was decided that I could not stay in that house, even for one 
night, in safety. Nicaragua and I, therefore, left the door at different 
times, walked different ways, and met at Mr. Maning’s door. Mr. 
Mailing is agent in Hobart-town for Macnamara’s ships, and I knew 
him to be well-affected to me, although a frequenter of Government 
House, and birthday balls, and the like. 

In half an hour wc had our plan arranged, The “ Emma,” regular 


ON 13 0AKD THE 


E M M A . 


845 


u 


7 7 


passenger-brig, sails hence for Sydney within a week. Nicaragua seta 
out to-morrow for Bothwell, to hasten and assist the winding up of 
all affairs at Nant Cottage, sale of stock, &c., so as to enable my 
wife and family to sail by the same vessel— they to go on board at 
the wharf, and be regularly “ cleared ” by the authorities,—I, being 
contraband, to be taken dowu the bay by Mailing himself, in his own 
boat ;—the “ Emma” to time her lifting anchor, so as to drop down 
the stream at dusk—I to be put on board in the dark three or four 
miles below, but to preserve my incognito strictly while on board, 
even to my own children. There might be some disaffected passen¬ 
ger in the “ Emma and if any of them should know me and betray 
my presence in Sydney, I would be as certainly arrested there as in 
Hobart-town itself. Meantime, Mr. Mailing has brought me out to¬ 
night to the house of his father, two miles down the Sandy Bay road, 
in a quiet country place, where I am to remain concealed till the 
ship sails. 

This is a bold move ; but, unless some untoward accident occurs, it 
will be successful. Then away for San Francisco. 

July 19— At Sea. —The “ Emma,” with all sails set, is gliding 
northwards. Maria Island, O’Brien’s old dungeon, is straight opposite, 
and the long-stretching mountainous coast of Van Diemen’s Land 
extending to windward as far as the eye can reach. 

Yesterday evening, I was placed on board in the bay by moonlight. 
Capt. Brown received me as a passenger he had been expecting, 
merely observing : “ You were almost too late, Mr. Wright ”—then 
brought me down to the cabin, and introduced Mr. Wright to the 
passengers, including Alcaragua. My wife was sitting on the poop 
with the children, in the moonlight, eagerly watching my embarka¬ 
tion ; but did not say a "word to me ; and Mr. Wright walked about 
as a stranger. The ship is full of passengers ; irat not one of them 
knows me. 

July 20 th. —This evening we are fast shutting down the coast of 
Yan Diemen’s Land below the red horizon, and about to stretch 
across the stormy Bass’s straits. The last of my island prison visible 
to me is a broken line of blue peaks over the Bay of Fires. Adieu, 
then, beauteous island, full of sorrow and gnashing of teeth—Island 
of fragrant forests, and bright rivers, and fair women!—Island of 
chains and scourges, and blind, brutal rage and passion! Behind 
those far blue peaks, in many a green valley known to me, dwell 

15* 


346 


J A 1 1, J O UENAL. 


some of the best and warmest-hearted of all God’s creatures ; and 
the cheerful talk of their genial fire-sides will blend for ever in my 
memory with the eloquent song of the dashing Derwent and deep- 
eddying Shannon. 

Van Diemen’s Land is no longer a penal colony. That is to say, 
the British government, yielding with a very ill grace to the impe¬ 
rious remonstrances of five potent colonies, has announced that no 
more prisoners shall be sent thither. In a generation or two, then, 
the convict taint may be well-nigh worn out of the population ; and 
those most lovely vales will be peopled by beings almost human. 
May it be so! Tasmania will then be the brightest of the five Aus¬ 
tralasian stars that have already dawned on their blue Southern 
banner. 

Vanish the peaks of the Bay of Fires ; a storm is gathering, and 
the Straits are going to show us this night the utmost they can do. 
I go below, and having already formed some casual acquaintance 
with Nicaragua and other passengers, Mr. Wright sits down to smoke 
and chat. 

July 23 d. — Sunrise .—We are off the entrance of Sydney harbor— 
Narrow entrance ; perpendicular cliffs on both sides. Lighthouse 
perched on one of them. After getting through the entrance, a spa¬ 
cious bay appears, running into many coves stretching in all direc¬ 
tions, in every one of which a fleet might lie at anchor. Low wooded 
hills all around. The city crowns the head of the bay, and who needs 
to be informed that there is plenty of shipping? 

Here, Mr. Wright must run the gauntlet again ; for the Emma, as 
usual, is to be searched by police authorities, and they possess un¬ 
doubtedly a description (probably a too flattering portrait) of the 
man of five feet ten, with dark hair. But Captain Brown, who is 
familiar with the chief officer, takes him at once down to the cabin, 
produces brandy and water, tells the official person some new 
anecdote of a jocose description, and so gets rid of him. Then he 
makes ready his own boat, and tells Mr. Wright that he is going to 
bring him ashore first. Mr. Wright nods a slight farewell to Nicara¬ 
gua, and his other acquaintances among the passengers; but does not 
presume to address Mrs. Mitchel (not having been introduced to that 
lady) and drops into the boat. 

Twelve o’clock. —Mr. Wright was conducted by the captain 
straight to Macnamara’s house in the best part of the city. Was 


FAREWELL TO VAN DIEMEN 7 S LAND. 847 

kindly received by Mr. James Macnamara (his father is now in 
Melbourne), is domiciled in the house for the present, and, instead of 
Wright, has become “ Warren.” 

Nicaragua is to take lodgings for the family. And my friend 
James Macnamara, has gone out to inquire about a ship—any ship 
bound either for San Francisco, Tahiti, or the Sandwich Islands. 















348 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


J 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Sydney—My Wife at Wooloomooloo—The “ Orkney Lass ’’—Take Passage for 
Honolulu—Dangerous Delays—Sail for the Sandwich Islands—My Fellow-voy¬ 
agers—Four Actresses—Tahiti—Papeete—Actresses give a Concert—French 
Frigate “ Le Forte”—Ride up the Fowtowa River—Bass’s Pale Ale—Gala at 
Queen Pom are’s Palace—The Tahitian Girls—The “Julia Ann” appears—The 
Stars and Stripes—Off for San Francisco—California—Isthmus of Nicaragua—• 
The San Juan River—Greytown. 

Sydney , July 24 tit, 1854.—Weather warm, mild and bright, though 
it is the depth of winter, and the city seems very cheerful. Sydney 
is built on a great bed of sandstone rock, and the public buildings 
and most of the stores and private houses are built of this stone. 
From the cellars of every house they quarry stone enough to build 
the avails; and it gives the place a lively and substantial appear¬ 
ance. The streets, also formed upon the sandstone rock, are clean 
and smooth as garden walks. However, I have no notion of describ¬ 
ing Sydney. A seaport town of 80,000 inhabitants, and there an end. 

Mr. Warren (for that is my name), dwelling peacefully in Mr. 
Macnamara’s: drove out this evening in his carriage, along with his 
wife and daughters, to the South Head, where the lighthouse stands. 
Climbed the lighthouse; and, assuredly, Warren has never seen so 
lovely a bay as this of Sydney, except Lough Swilly, in Donegal. 
Mr. James Macnamara is making inquiries about a vessel. If pos¬ 
sible, he will secure a passage for all of us in the same ship ; but 
there is no ship at present laid on for San Francisco, and there may 
be none for a month to come. An English barque, the “ Orkney 
Lass,” of London, is about to sail in three or four days for Honolulu, 
in the Sandwich Islands; and, once there, we could find easy transit 
to California. On inquiry, we find that the “ Orkney Lass ” is already 
full of passengers, and the captain could make room only for one. 
I am urged by my friends here to take this passage, and get clear 
out of the British colonies with all speed, seeing that Nicaragua is 


SET SAIL FOR HONOLULU. 


349 


fortunately here to escort my family to San Francisco. To-morrow 
I shall decide. 

July 25th .—My wife came to Mr. Macnamara’s to visit Mr. Warren; 
brought me a letter she had received, before leaving Bothwell, from 
Smith O’Brien, very warmly congratulating her on my escape ; also 
a letter from John Knox. She had the kindest assistance from our 
neighbors of Bothwell in all her business arrangements,—selling 
horses, and sheep, and so forth. Nant Cottage and farm are already 
occupied by an English gentleman, recently arrived in the colony, 
and he took the furniture at a valued price. Fleur-de-lis, our old 
favorite, is sold to a young lady. May her rack long abound with 
hay, and the oats never fail in her manger! Tricolor goes to Con- 
nellan ; Donald to Dan Burke ; Dapple, the boys’ little brown mare, 
has been sold ; and Mr. A. Reid promises to take care of her colt. 
I was very fond of all these horses, and hope to hear sometimes how 
it fares with them, as well as with my human friends. 

Mrs. Mitchel has secured agreeable rooms in a house at Wooloo- 
mooloo, a large suburb of Sydney, which has retained its outlandish 
native name. 

A cabin passage is taken for Mr. Warren in the “ Orkney Lass,” 
for Honolulu. Nicaragua is to bring on the rest of the party by the 
next good ship, bound for San Francisco; so that we shall 
all meet again, inside the Golden Gate. An American ship, the 
“ Julia Ann,” is to sail from Melbourne to San Francisco in a few 
days, and to call at Sydney. If there are berths enough unoccupied 
for the family, they will come on by that ship. 

July 28th .—Went to-day on board the “ Orkney Lass,” Captain 
John Martin. Difficulty occurs about gettiug away, as some of the 
sailors have left the ship, intending to go and dig gold : they have 
been arrested, but there must be legal proceedings and delay. Every 
hour’s detention is perilous to me ) and this difficulty with the sailors 
brings “ water-police” about the ship, a class of men whom, under 
existing circumstances, I do not affect. Mr. Whiron, indeed, walks 
about on the poop coolly, conversing agreeably with the other pas¬ 
sengers 5 yet he likes not these water-police. 

-None are for me 

Who look into me with considerate eyes. 

This delay is likely to last a few days : so I go ashore again to 
Macnamara’s, and visit my family at their lodgings. 



850 


JAIL JODKNAL. 


2 9th. —Still no prospect of lifting anchor for a day or two longer. 
I went on board in the evening, found we were not to sail ; returned 
on shore along with a French gentleman who is one of my fellow- 
passengers, and the captain ; went insanely to an evening party, and 
after that repaired with my friends to an oyster tavern—greatly to 
the surprise and alarm of my friend James Macnamara, who watches 
over me like my good angel. 

Note that the oysters of Sydney are good—those of Hobart town 
are bad. 

Aug. 2d. —On board. The complement of our crew is made up 
We lifted our anchor at 11 o’clock. Very faint breeze, and that 
rather against us. The ship was to be searched at the Heads—the 
last searching. 

-It is over. The man five feet ten in stature, with dark hair 

was recognized by no enemy. And we cleared the Heads about four 
o’clock; and a fresh breeze sprung up from the north ; and now the 
sun is setting beyond the Blue Mountains; and the coast of New 
South Wales, a hazy line upon the purple sea, is fading into a 
dream. Whether I was ever truly in Australia at all; or whether in 
the body or out of the body—I cannot tell; but I have had bad 
dreams. 

Aug. 20 th. —Nearly three weeks at sea. We approach Tahiti, 
where we discharge some cargo before proceeding to the Sandwich 
Islands. Our cabin passengers are numerous ; and, Shades of Bou¬ 
gainville and of James Cook!—we carry four English actresses to 
the theatre of Honolulu : also an American circus-rider to the circus 
of that city. The ladies intend giving a concert at Papeete, the 
town of Tahiti, during our short stay there ; and, in the meantime, 
they make the cabin nearly uninhabitable by practising there in the 
evenings. They are assured that the French officers and the traders 
in the town will give them a good house. A lady of Sydney and her 
little girl going to visit relatives at Tahiti;—my friend, the Tahitian 
Frenchman, a Malouin by birth, and by name Bonnefin, gay and fiery 
young Breton, of highly agreeable manners :—a Mr. Pratt, English 
commercial gentleman, also young, but in bad health, going to 
Tahiti, partly for health, partly for trade ;—an American of Honolulu 
and his wife :—an Italian, by name, Serpentini, and his signora, who 
is, indeed, a tall, black-haired, English girl:—this is a kind of list 
of the cabin passengers of the barque “ Orkney Lass.” 

Our voyage has been like all other voyages. No land in sight 



TAHITI. 


351 


anywhere since leaving Sydney, although we passed within forty 
miles of the north point of New Zealand. 

24 th .—Tahiti is in sight, northeast 5 it seems covered with high 
mountains. On our other bow lies Morea, an island of the same 
group, which rises out of the sea like a mere cluster of uncouth and 
fantastic peaks, presenting precipices of four or five thousand feet 
high, some of them overhanging their base. 

Before sunset we come near enough to Tahiti to see clearly 
enough that between the mountains and the sea lay a belt of wood¬ 
land : wherein as yet I can distinguish no tree except the plumed 
cocoa-nut palm. We lie, this evening, becalmed between the two 
islands ; but have yet to sail some thirty miles before making the 
coral-bound harbor of Papeete. 

25 th .—Off the mouth of the harbor. My Malouin friend is vehe¬ 
mently exxited and impatient. He has has a valuable interest in our 
cargo ; and that I may be for once instructive, I shall here set down 
an invoice (as it were) of his venture—purchased at Sydney to be 
sold at Tahiti; Bright-colored printed calico, and black satin and 
gorgeous silks, for the Tahitian women—rainbow-hued shirts for the 
men,—shoes, coarse, huge and heavy,—rum, gin, brandy, and claret. 
The two last-named importations surprised me at first: for, why 
should a French settlement take the produce of its own mother 
country through an English colony ? But he had got them out of 
the bonded stores in Sydney—free of duty: besides, I find that the 
greater part of the claret and brandy is of those inferior and dubious 
sorts wherein Great Britaiu has a more flowing vintage than France. 

The day is profoundly calm and brilliant, the sea without a 
ripple, the sky without the very downiest cloud. But, between us 
and the island, we see lines of huge breakers, with their foamy crests 
flashing white in the sun. They burst upon the coral reefs, that form 
the harbor. Stretching along the shore, beyond the reefs, we see 
houses, embowered amongst palms and bread-fruit trees : one build¬ 
ing, larger than all others, is the French Commissariat’s store : and 
high up among the thickest of the trees what do I behold ? A dome 
towering above a high-pillared colonnade. I address my Breton 
friend, and inquire what altar, or what god receives sacrifices in that 
temple for Tahiti, as I had always been led to believe, is the 
Cyprus of these seas, and may not these be the hallowed porticoes 
of Paphos or Arsinoe ? 

“ That is the theatre,” said my friend, “ commenced by our last 


352 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


governor, and still unfinished.” Wherever a very few Frenchmen 
are gathered together there will be a theatre in the midst of them. 
As a hotel is to an American,—as a church to a Spaniard,—so is a 
theatre to a Frenchman. 

In the harbor lie about a dozen vessels—one, a rather shabby 
French corvette, the Moselle. Pilot-boat comes out to us. Pilot, a 
Frenchman ; his crew Tahitians. The pilot falls upon Bonnefin’s 
neck, and embraces him ; then tells him, “ with effusion,” that all is 
well at home. 

In the afternoon, having passed through an opening in the reefs, 
we are at anchor. From this point, we can see more of the low 
ground of the island, which is here from one mile to two miles wide, 
between the sea and the mountains. It seems a wilderness of ver¬ 
dure. The gorges of the mountains are also wooded half-way up: 
thence, all is bare and bleak. I ought to say mountain, not moun¬ 
tains—for all the ravines lead up towards, all the ridges build up, 
and, buttress-wise, support a grand pyramidal mass, tapering and 
towering to the aerial peak of Orohena, nine thousand feet high, 
untrodden yet by foot of mortal man.* 

Of course, oranges, cocoa-nuts, and bananas are brought on board, 
and every one makes a debauch on them. Mr. Warren goes ashore 
with the captain, accompanied by Platt the Englishman, and Bon- 
nefin the Frenchman. We call at the British ConsuPs office ; he is 
one Miller. Bonnefin tells me he is an unpopular and ill-conditioned 
creature, and, if he knew me, would probably endeavor to induce 
the French authorities here to arrest me. They would not comply: 
but still I keep my incognito. 

We walk along the beach, which is also the main street of Pa¬ 
peete : meet hundreds of men and women,—a tall, w T ell-made, grace¬ 
ful and lazy race. The women have great black eyes, long, smooth, 
black hair 5 and on every glossy head a wreath of fresh flowers. 
They wear nothing but the parieu, a long robe of some bright- 
colored fabric (made for them in world-clothing Manchester), 

* The Tahitians are too lazy to climb mountains, and see no object in it. Lieute¬ 
nant Wilkes, of the U. S. Exploring Expedition, detached a party to climb Oro¬ 
hena, for surveying and other scientific purposes. They could only make their 
way about 6,000 feet. Their Tahitian guides, when they arrived at a point where 
the wild banana no longer grew, concluded that Heaven was against further pro¬ 
gress, and sat down. A French officer set out once alone, to scale Orohena, but 
never returned. 


CONOEET IN PAPEETE. 


353 


gathered close round the neck, and hanging loose to the feet, with¬ 
out even a girdle. I am not reconciled to this dress, though they 
generally have forms that no barbarity of drapery can disguise— 
nor to their wide mouths, though their teeth are orient pearls. 

Cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees shade the streets 5 and the moun¬ 
tains send down several small streams of pure cool water. French 
restaurants are numerous ; and there you have an opportunity of min¬ 
gling the cool water with claret, a mixture grateful to the sea-faring 
heart. 

30th .—Our singing women gave a concert last night in a public 
room. It was a failure. Neither Governor Pages nor any of the 
French officers attended, owing, it is said, to a failure of etiquette on 
the part of the mellifluous ladies—they had sent no complimentary 
tickets. Most of the audience were Tahitian women, in rainbow 
parieus and exuberant chaplets of scarlet hibiscus flowers. Two 
daughters and a little son of Queen Pomare were present—the son a 
most beautiful boy. The Queen lives in a large cottage in the vil¬ 
lage, kept up for her by the French government, and came herself 
last night, and mingled with the crowd at the door of the singing- 
house. M. Bonnefin brought me out, and presented me to her 
Majesty, a large bare-footed woman of about forty-five. She can 
scarcely speak a word of English, or French either, and excused 
herself from coming in by the simple monosyllables “ no dress.” 

A splendid sixty-gun frigate, Le Forte, came in here yesterday, 
carrying a French admiral. Two or three days ago also appeared a 
small war steamer, the Phoque. So the place is full of officers and 
sailors. The permanent garrison of the station consists of a body of 
gens d'armes. But it is said that a larger French establishment is 
shortly to be kept in the Pacific ; and that these ships are to be fol¬ 
lowed by three others, all destined for- some service yet unknown. 
New Caladonia, or the Feegee islands are supposed to be the object. 

31s£.—Went with M. Bonnefin to visit the frigate. We were shown 
politely over the ship by a lieutenant 5 saw a lithograph portrait of 
the Empress Eugenie in the admiral's cabin, and drank eau sucre 
with the officers. 

Every morning Mr. Warren goes with the captain, M. Bonnefin, 
and young Derby the American circus-rider, to bathe in the Fowtowa 
river, a fine dashing limpid stream, almost overarched by palm, 
orange, breadfruit, lime, and guava trees. 

September 4 th .—Hired a horse, and rode with M. Bonnefin up the 


354 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


valley, or rather ravine, that brings down the Fowtowa from the 
mountains. For the first two miles there was nothing but a wilder¬ 
ness of guava (a most noxious root-spreading tree that chokes all 
other vegetation, and has made wilderness of much land which was 
once cultivated for taro) ; through and through this torest roved 
myriads of hogs, the principal live stock of the Tahitians, devouring 
oranges, cocoa-nuts, and guavas. All this level ground, M. Bonnefin 
tells me, was once in cultivation, when the island was ten times as 
populous, wealthy, and contented as it is now (before civilization 
overtook it) ; but ever since Europeans have infested the place, the 
inhabitants have grown lazy, and they are at present under solemn 
engagements to their respective chiefs not to work more than needful 
to support themselves—and this is very little—while the French or 
any other foreign nation hold the island. The consequence is that 
all stores for this naval station must be brought from America. The 
French, however, to do them justice, hardly interfere with the natives 
at all, do not take possession of their lands, nor enforce them to 
adopt any of the usages of European life, nor compel them to labor 
and till the ground. If the English or Americans were here in their 
place, the poor brown fellows would surely be compelled to labor, to 
read English, to say their catechism, and raise produce for their 
masters ; or their brown backs would be made acquainted with the 
civilizing cat-o’-nine-tails. 

But long before the French took Tahiti, the missionaries had nearly 
turned it into a desert and a pandemonium. The vices and diseases 
of Christendom had worn down the population to a shadow : and 
such agriculture as the creatures carried on had been ruined by the 
introduction of the execrable guava : for that also is a gift of the 
missionaries, as w T ell as “ rum and true religion.” 

As we rode up the valley, the guava disappeared ; but the stately 
bread-fruit tree with its green knobs about the size of a baby’s head, 
was frequent in our path ; and the orange and lime trees, dark as 
sepulchral yew, threw a black shadow on the pools of the river. The 
ridges of the hill rose high and steep on either side ; and, in the 
windings of the gorge, we seemed sometimes walled round by moun¬ 
tains. We tied our horses to a tree, and went down (for such is 
Warren’s uniform custom) to sit on the river’s bank, and listen to 
its narcotic murmuring. Here, in the very heart of the garden- 
bower of these romantic South Sea isles, Mr. Warren’s mind reverted 
to Queen Obcrea and her dusky houris, with their aprons of tappa 


bass’s pale ale. 


355 


and too hospitable manners. Oberea—for so euphonious mariners 
named the the regnant Pomare of those palmy days.—unhappy and 
too-confiding queen!—why took she ever to her brown heart that 
wicked Christian, Sir Joseph? Infelix reginaf The Phoenician 
Elissa never was so deceived by pious ./Eneas. Her fair isles are an 
unpeopled desert, isles 

“ Whose air is balm, whose ocean spreads 
O’er coral rocks and amber beds.” 

And her degenerate descendant, arrayed in satin of Lyons, drinks 
too much wine of Bordeaux. In a nook of the rock here, by the 
river, where Oberea and her nymphs were wont to bathe, I find three 
empty bottles, bearing on a label the legend, ‘‘ Bass’s Pale Ale.” O, 
Bass, boundless bottler of beer ! thy name and thy liquor pervade the 
globe :—thou has built thyself a monument more enduring than brass 
in the quenched thirst of all kindreds, and tongues, and nations. 
Thee Australian shepherd blesses, as he unwinds the clasping wire 
from thy bottle’s burly neck:—Dutch boer on karroo of Southern 
Africa feels his thirst assuaged in advance at very sight of thy label 
of blue. These eyes have seen thy cork, erst hammered down in that 
bottling-store of London, leap up towards the southern cross and 
startle the opossum on his lofty branch in Van Diemen’s Land 
forests:—here, too, that bounding cork has overtopped the plumes 
of the loftiest palms—this quiet dell of the Polynesian Fowtowa has 
witnessed libations to thy numen, to thy power and thy genius ; and 
the slumbering echoes of Orohena have been awaked by thy good 
report. 

My companion, Bonnefin, is a handsome, agreeable, high-spirited 
young Breton. He knows who Mr. Warren is, and takes much inte¬ 
rest in learning all the details of that gentleman’s escape and ad¬ 
ventures. We rode down, and dined at a restaurant under Bonnefin’s 
special patronage, on fowl a la mayonnaise. 

Sunday Evening. —Strolled up with Bonnefin to Queen Pomare’s 
palace or cottage. It has been a gala evening. The admiral and 
governor are in the queen’s verandah ; the delightful band of the 
frigate playing polkas and schottisches. The maids of honor (of 
whom there are six or eight, all in pure white parieus , with flowers 
radiant in their dark hair), and scores of other Tahitian maidens, 
some of them splendidly dressed, wer^ dancing on the lawn in front 
with the young French officers. Mr. Warren is pained to say that 


JAIL JOTTKNAL. 


{356 

the feet of the girls are broad ; figures otherwise faultless, eyes super¬ 
natural, and the carriage of the head and neck, of that proud and 
fierce beauty that you see in the bearing of the desert panther. 

When the dusk came on the governor and admiral retired from the 
scenee, but amusement then only commenced. Bonnefin, Warren, 
and Platt then made their way from the verandah to the presence- 
chamber, where we were instantly recognized by the king—that is 
to say, the present man, for Pomare has had four, some of whom are 
alive ; and indeed one of them was present this evening, a huge fat 
Polynesian, now known as the King of Bola-bola, and the husband, 
ad interim , of the queen of that dependent island. Queen Pomare’s 
present husband (as in reason he ought) is the handsomest man in 
the' island. I had met him before ; and he had shown me, with 
much pride, a gold watch and several other French presents which 
governors and admirals had given him. On this Sunday evening, 
however, being a grand reception evening, I hardly knew my friend ; 
for he was dressed in a close-fitting, heavily-laced, tremendously- 
epauletted French military blue coat, and wore a field-officer’s hat, 
with a crimson plume like a cocoa-nut palm. But when the great 
men went away, and his majesty saw us in the room, he instantly 
threw off his coat, for coolness, and swinging about at his ease, in¬ 
vited us to a side-table in the presence-chamber, where we found as 
fine sherry as ever entered the lips of Mr. Warren. Queen Pomare, 
in a parieu of green satin, looking very grand, and as sober as she 
could, occupied a kind of large arm-chair, which, I suppose, is called 
her throne. Her wliite-robed maids of honor were flitting about, 
trying to hammer out a few words of French or English to their 
numerous admirers ; and the discarded prince-consort, now king of 
Bola-bola, seemed on excellent terms with the present man. 

Sept. lltk .—The Tahitian cargo of the “Orkney Lass” is dis¬ 
charged. She is drawn out from her wharf, and to-morrow we weigh 
anchor for the Sandwich islands. 

12th .—The pilot came on board to take us out, but it is a dead 
calm. We cannot stir till to-morrow. 

13£A.—This morning a bark was reported in sight, outside the 
reefs,—an American bark ; and, as I was on shore with M. Bonnefin, 
I heard various speculations as to what she might be. She seemed 
crowded with passengers; and one man said he knew her to be the 
“Julia Ann.” The name rou^d me. I took a glass, and soon saw 
that she was lying off, with no intention to enter the harbor. Soon 


SAN FE ANOISCO . 


357 


a boat put off from her side, and came into the opening of the reefs. 
Anxiously I watched the boat; and while it was still a mile off I 
recognized one of my own boys sitting in the bow ; and Nicaragua 
beside him. They have come for me. 

7 O’clock, P. M. —On board the “Julia Ann”—I transshipped 
myself, of course, immediately ;—within a hour after the boat appeared, 
I set foot on the deck of an American ship, and took off my hat 
in homage to the Stars and Stripes. Here, then, Mr. Blake, Mr. 
Macnamara, Mr. Wright, and Mr. Warren, have all become once more 
plain John Mitchel. I am surrounded by my family, all well; we 
are away before a fine breeze for San Francisco ; my “ Jail Journal ” 
ends, and my Out-of-Jail Journal begins. 

21th. —The southern constellations go down behind the globe ; and 
I hail once more the North Pole Star and Charles’s Wain. After long 
syncope, and five years’ sleep of nightmare dreams, Life begins again. 

We are made as comfortable on board the “ Julia Ann” as the 
narrowness of the accommodations and the crowd of passengers 
admit. Capt. Davis, of Newport, Rhode Island, is our commander; 
and the owner, Mr. Pond of New York, is also on board. The passen¬ 
gers and crew are all Americans ; and already I feel almost a citizen. 

Oct. 9th. —We sail, in company with a fleet of merchantmen, into 
the long-wished-for Gate of Gold ; Nicaragua and I go ashore; and 
immediately search for our worthy comrade, MacManus; learn that 
he is fifty miles out of town, at San Jose, where he has a ranchbut 
find ourselves surrounded by troops of friends. 

Nov. 1st. —Three weeks in California. We have been the guests 
of the city ; and more than princely arc the hospitalities of the Golden 
City ; we have spent a week at San Jose ; cantered through the oak- 
openings at the base of the coast-range, and penetrated the Santa 
Cruz gap, amongst wooded mountains, where our senses were regaled 
with the fragrance of pine woods,—unfelt for five years. MacManus 
has spent all his time with us, talking of scenes new and old. My 
wife has recovered from the effects of her long Pacific voyage, and 
Nicaragua and I have been feasted at the grandest of banquets, 
' presided over by the Governor of the State. 

We are now on board the steamship Cortez, bound for New York, 
by the Nicaragua route ; have bidden farewell to MacManus, our old 
friend, and to hundreds of new friends, and are steaming again out 
between the bare hills that form the piers of the Golden Gate. In less 
than a'month I shall see my mother, my brother and sisters, and 


358 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


Reilly, mine ancient comrade, and Meagher, and Dillon, and O Gor¬ 
man, and Michael Dolieny, that devoted rebel, and the whole band 
of refugees,—shall mutually hear and tell of all our good and evil 
fortunes since the fatal and accursed ’48 $ and together consult the 
oracles whether that black night is ever to know a morning. 

\2>th .—After coasting along the mountainous coast of Lower Cali¬ 
fornia, and Guatemala, and passing the pirate-ship Caroline, whose 
destination all our passengers seem to know, we have entered a small, 
crescent shaped bay, with a few wooden houses at-the head of it, 
San Juan del Sur. Here we wait all day till a sufficient number of 
mules are brought together to convey such a multitude across to the 
Nicaragua Lake, fifteen miles. At length we start; I carrying my 
little daughter on the saddle before me—two gentlemen kindly taking 
charge of two others of the children. We are now on board the Lake 
steamer at Virgin Bay. 

14 th.—Castilla Rapids .—Yesterday we traversed the Lake, about 
90 miles from Virgin Bay to the outlet of the San Juan River,—a 
vast and lovely lake, surrounded with untamable forests, and hero 
and there a lofty mountain peak. Thus far we have come down in 
the lake steamer ; but here rapids occur, where a transfer must be 
made ; a walk of a quarter of a mile, and re-embarkation on another 
steamer below the rapids. We are housed in a most comfortless hotel 
for the night. 

1 5th .—This morning we floated down the San Juan to its mouth, 
on the Atlantic side. It is a rapid, full and powerful stream, 
bordered close to the water's edge, not by hedges, but by high walls 
of most luxuriant tropical foliage ; the lofty trees bound together and 
festooned by all manner of trailing vines, making the whole a chaotic 
mass of almost solid verdure. No living thing but alligators, wallow¬ 
ing in the shallow water, and occasionally diving when gently titil¬ 
lated by a ball from a revolver. At last, we glide into the calm 
expanse of the bay of San Juan del Norte, called by its English 
“ protectors ” Greytown, after an illustrious, but roguish statesman, 
of the name of Grey. The town stretches and straggles about a mile 
along the shore, backed by wooded heights ; seems to contain sixty 
or seventy houses, and one or two large hotels.* We come ashore, 

* All blown to atoms now, burned down, reduced to ashes, and the ashes scat¬ 
tered on the wind—razed, trampled, sown with salt, and become even as Sodom and 
Gomorrah, by reason of the impious irreverence of some of the inhabitants thereof 
towards one Solon Borland, august representative of a first-rate Power. 


GREYTOWN. 


359 


and the Prometheus, our Atlantic steamer, not having yet arrived, 
we secure with difficulty, at an extortionate price, two bed-rooms in 
Lyon’s Hotel, a large wooden house. Lyon is an American ; and, 
indeed, all the good houses in the place seen* to be American ; but 
there are also some Englishmen, and a few French. The non-arrival 
of the Prometheus seems to these people an interposition of Provi¬ 
dence in their behalf, because they have seven hundred passengers 
delivered over to their tender mercies, to treat them at discretion, 
and mulct them as much as they will bear.* 

The British have never, it seems, formally given up their protector¬ 
ate of the Musquito “ kingdom ” and its Sambo sovereign. A flag¬ 
staff stands here, with a piece of bunting flying therefrom, displaying 
in the corner the Union Jack, and on the field some device represent¬ 
ing the sovereignty of the most gracious Gallinipper, who holds his 
court, and drinks as much rum as he can get credit for, at Bluefields, 
a place near the coast, north of Greytown. But there is a sort of 
municipal government established in the town; the Mayor being an 
American ; and the British never interfere now with the domestic 
concerns of Greytown. It is an anomalous species of government; 
for the ground undoubtedly belongs to the State of Nicaragua ; and 
Greytown, in its present condition must, ere long, breed quarrels. 

It was here that an English ship fired into the Prometheus, two or 
three years ago, while insisting on the payment of harbor dues, pay¬ 
able by the American steamer in Greytown. as a British port ; and, 
although the dues are not now levied or claimed, yet it will depend 
entirely on England’s convenience and strength, whether and how soon 
they may be demanded again. In the meantime, to maintain a foot¬ 
hold on the soil of Central America, the Downing street men keep up 
the protectorate, and, as if to mock at American Republicanism, they 
insist on a poor, diseased, abject, drunken, idiot Indian, being called 
his majesty the king. Great is the assertion of a principle ! 

1 6th .—The Prometheus arrived this evening, but will not take us 
on board till to-morrow. So, the inn-keepers of Greytown are to have 
twenty-four hours’ harvest more. We keep our rooms in Lyon’s hotel, 
but can neither eat nor drink there. By researches in the town, we 
have found a little restaurant, adorned all round with uncouth 

* A certain amount of punishment these Greytown people assuredly deserved for 
their uneatable dinners and their extortion : but the human mind, even of one who 
has suffered by their practices, would, perhaps, have been satisfied with some less 
condign and signal vengeance than that which has fallen upon them. 


860 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


pictures, kept by a Frenchman, who makes eatable omelettes, gives a 
good dinner, and keeps good claret.* 

One other night, then, with the inexorable Mosquitoes of Grey- 
town. 

« 

* It would be pleasing to think that our hospitable Frenchman’s wooden shanty- 
had been spared in the late sack, even as the house of Pindar was, in the bombard¬ 
ment of Thebes. But one can scarce dare to hope this. No; Captain Hollins’s avenging 
boats’ crews have devoured his poultry, and washed down his omelettes with his 
claret, or with as much thereof as they could hold. Then they put a torch to his 
picture gallery ; and brought his roof-tree crashing down amidst his broken bottles. 
Behold the fate of those who refuse to pay dollars, and make apologies to a first- 
rate Power ! The sailors and marines, however, though all the other formalities of 
a sack were strictly complied with, did not slay the men or ravish the women 
(which, perhaps, their crimes had deserved), for, in fact, they fled into the woods 
whenever the batteries first opened. 


fillibustering argonauts. 


361 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Greytown—The Pampero—Cuba and the Cubans—News from Europe—The Czar is 
up - 'Refreshment for the Refugees—Kossuth—Mazzini—Ireland—Leaving Grey- 
town—Nicaragua lectures on Central America—Arrive at Cuba—The Moro— 
Havana—Atarcs Castle—Cuba and Ireland—Captain General’s Palace—Dublin 
Castle—Pass near Bermuda—Doubts—New York at last—Brooklyn. 

Greytown , November 1 Sth, 1853.—To-day a small steamer came 
across the bay, about a mile from “ Vanderbilt-town ”—a town which 
seems to consist of one building and a wharf. At one trip it brought 
over all the New York passengers, and transferred them to the Pro¬ 
metheus. Then it returned to Greytown, and carried away those 
bound for New Orleans, who were to proceed thither by another 
steamer moored close by the Prometheus. On this second steamer’s 
stern, I read the word “ Pampero .” An American gentleman w r as 
standing by me, and to him I said “ Pampero ! The name is familiar 

in my ear,—was not this the ship that-” 

u That carried the Argonauts,” he said, “who sailed to win the 
Golden Fleece of the Antilles, but found there a stormy Medea.” 

“Yes ; the days of heroic emprize are not yet ended for evermore. 
Gorgeous tragedy can still sweep over the earth in sceptred pall, or 
unsceptred. Cuba may be as Colchis, and the thing which hath 
been is the thing which shall be. But who was that compatriot of 
yours—for I forget his name—who, being ordered to turn his back, 
and kneel down to be shot by Spanish soldiers, made answer, that 
he would stand erect, and face his death ‘ like an American V ” 

“ Crittenden--as brave a man as ever fell in a good cause. His 
blood, and the blood of his fifty comrades, will hardly sink into the 
earth under Atarcs Castle (you will see Atarcs Castle in three or four 
days), and bear no fruit. Even as your Greek tragedies generally 
went in trilogies, Ate chasing Wrong, and slaughter breeding slaugh¬ 
ter, so that gallant blood will fructify a hundred fold ere the end 
come. Cuba is bound to come in.” 

16 



362 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


“ After all,” I asked, “ have the Americans a right to Cuba ?” 

“No ; but the Cubans have a right to Cuba, even as the Irish have 
a right to Ireland ; and Spain holds it against the right owners with 
a monstrous garrison, as England holds Ireland against you. Would 
a filibuster expedition of Americans to Ireland, to aid you and your 
friends in driving out the British, appear to you an act of piracy 
and robbery V’ 

“ Oh Heaven! an apostleship,—a mission of redemption and sal¬ 
vation. But in truth I read of that Cuba enterprise only in British 
newspapers, and during my bondage amongst Britons. A British 
atmosphere surrounded me, and it sorely refracted and deflected 
every ray that came to me from the outer world. All with whom I 
held converse were British colonists; and their mouths were full of 
cursing and bitterness against the American ‘ pirates;’ and they 
rejoiced over the defeat, and gloated over the garotte. Yet, I knew 
how Cuba was governed, and instinctively I felt, even there, that the 
cause of Lopez was righteous—that the blood shed at Atares was 
real martyr-blood, of the sort which germinates.” 

My Californian friend was silent awhile, and then merely said : 
“ We call at Havana to take coal on board within four days. You 
shall see a beauteous and stately city, destined to be the southern 
centre of American commerce, as New York is the northern.” 

Evening. All on board the Prometheus (Captain Churchill), but 
she does not lift anchor till to-morrow. 

19£/n—I have got some European news brought by the Prome¬ 
theus, news hardly more than three weeks old at London and Paris. 
I approach nearer and nearer to the great centres of the world’s 
business, and begin to feel the beating of its heart. For nearly 
six years I have been shivering at the extremities, wliereunto, 
slender capillaries brought but trickling drops of life, where the 
systole and diastole could hardly be felt to throb ; and where the 
old Earth “o’er the embers covered and cold,” borne in ships from 
far-off fires, has to warm her frosty fingers. 

The above reflection is partly nonsense, yet not all nonsense. 
The pen of scribbling mortals running recklessly in chase of a meta¬ 
phor, plunges, but too often, unwarily into the quagmire of balder¬ 
dash. For at the antipodes also, and the Ultima Thule, life glows 
and passion burns. Wherever the heart of a man beats, and his brain 
works, there is, to him, the centre of the universe. The world has no 
common pulse and circulation ; neither do the extremities thereof 


GOD BLESS HIM! 


363 


THE OZAK. 


borrow life from any metropolitan heart, • or through any central 
grand-trunk aorta : for it is written, “ The masses do indeed con¬ 
sist of units, and in every unit, a heart beating.” So, even, in that 
shady Clyde-valley, which turns its back to the “ Great Powers,” and 
slopes towards the Antarctic Circle—if there be a hundred men and 
women, there are a hundred worlds. 

Nevertheless, I am glad to meet here so late intelligence from 
Europe ;—and what portentous and thundering news it is!—The 
Czar is up. His long-nursed designs on Turkey are, in his imperial 
opinion, ripe ; and to protect the rights of the Greek Christians, and 
gain them access to their Holy Places on fair terms, his Imperial 
Majesty has moved his troops across the Sereth ; they have occupied 
Moldavia and Wallacliia, and are swarming on the Danube. Before 
those troops retire again, the Nations will see a good time. Magnifi¬ 
cent Czar! I bow to thee in grateful homage. After years of tranced 
sleep in darkness and cold obstruction, as I cross this isthmus thres¬ 
hold of the northern hemisphere, and the old Atlantic dashes at my 
feet once more, thy bugle, oh Czar ! blown upon the Danube, comes to 
me like a morning salutation, and sounds the reveille to a dreaming 
earth. No more musical matin-song, did ever Memnon (let alone the 
lark), sing to the rising sun. 

Now for the protocols! Now, will couriers gallop, and telegraphic 
wires be taught their lesson. Not so much to keep the Czar out ot 
Constantinople '(though that were something), as to smother in its 
cradle this blessed war of the- Lord, the Devil will employ all his 
plenipotentiaries ] he will send form his diabolic diplomats to fly 
abroad over the wiiole earth, and, for a time, men will breathe an 
atmosphere of lies and fraud. For, assuredly the commercial poweis 
of Europe will now put forth their very uttermost resources of diplo¬ 
macy to coniine this war, to hem it in, to draw a cordon around it, 
to let it burn itself out within a ring-fence, while the general 
interests of civilization and commerce hold on the even tenor of 
their way. But tftere are good men on the earth who will have 
strength given unto them, as I trust, to bafflle all the wiles 
and assaults of the Devil. I have not heard yet where Kossuth is 
now—probably still in England. Louis Kossuth! He of the 
aquiline eye, and a nose (like behemoth’s) that pierceth thiough 
snares,—how beats the more than imperial heart of the. great ex¬ 
governor now ? Keenly and passionately that glowing eye must be 
darting over Europe and Asia, measuring the forces of kings, and 


364 


JAIL JOUIiNAL. 


taking note wliat signs of life show themselves in the people. He 
must see that this war—if the Czar have indeed resolved on war-— 
must spread 5 that the tyrant of Hapsburg, w r ho lies heavy on Hun¬ 
gary and Italy, must take part in it; that France and England 
will he goaded or dragged into it, though doubtless (at least on 
England's part), after long delays and reluctant diplomatic w r rig- 
glings—for the British lion does not like now to come to the scratch, 
except with black savages or Burmese ; that the five powers will be 
no longer an united “ Pentarchy,” or happy family ; and that so 
debt will grow, and immortal Bankruptcy, like Deus ex machina, 
will at last step forth and settle Europe. Governor Ivossuth does 
not get much sleep these latter nights. 

In garrets of London, Brussels, New York, this news must refresh 
many a weary exile. Blanc and llollin, Cavaignac and Victor 
Hugo, Garibaldi and Avezzana,—their names rise to my lips like a 
litany. And I see before me in vision, Giuseppe Mazzini, with his 
lofty brow and pensive 'eye, shadowed by many a doleful memory, 
of the murdered Menotti, and the mangled Maroncelli, and the youth¬ 
ful brothers Bandiera betrayed to their death, and the Langelotti 
pining on the rocks of Caprere, and the noble struggle of those last 
of Romans in fatal ’48. “Italian Unity” may well, up to the 
present hour, bear its emblem, the cypress-branch; but, now Maz¬ 
zini looks up again, with hope chastened by doubt and sorrow. O, 
triumvir! is this dawning hope also to fade in another evening 
shadow of despair? Is this to end but in another Ramorino expe¬ 
dition? another Carbonaro conspiracy? another Bandiera treason? 
another Roman carnage ? Mazzini knows not; but one thing he 
knows—if the neck of this foul European “ peace ” be once broken, 
the cypress-branch of young Italy will be reared again, and tho 
resolute watchword Ora e setnpre shall ring along the Apennine. 

I dwell to-night on the hopes and fears of these foreign lands, and 
am afraid to breathe the name of Ireland, or to write it down, even 
in my secret tablets, as the name of one of the nations that have a 
destiny to achieve, and wrongs (how matchless and how bitter!) to 
avenge. Yet, what is Italy to me ? and what have I to do with 
Hungary ? Does Ireland still live ? Will anything—will the trump 
of doom itself, awaken Ireland ? Or can it be, that Ireland is indeed 
“ improving and contented,” as the London papers say, glad to be 
rid of her noxious agitators; and now, as she breathes again, after 
the sore dispensation of the famine, is she indeed contrite and subdued 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS. 


365 


under the chastening hand of Providence and England? I shall not 
know the very truth of all this till I arrive at New York, and almost 
I dread to hear the trnth. For I know that, after five or six years 7 
brooding in bondage, lying down every night in stifled wrath and 
shame, rising up each morning with an imprecation,—a returning 
exile is prone to exaggerate the importance of all this to the world, 
to his country, even to himself. How can I expect to find men in 
New York, though they be banished Irishmen too, or in Ireland, 
though they be unhappy in not being banished,—so full of these 
thoughts as I am ? Six years, that have been ages and centuries of 
bitterness to me, have been to them six years of work and of common 
life. I know that, let exile be as long as it will, the returning 
wanderer is apt to take up his life again, as it were, at the very 
point where he quitted it, just as if the interval were a hasheesh 
dream, wherein men spend years, and lead weary lives in a second of 
time ; or, as Mohammed was carried by the angel through the seven 
heavens, and beheld, all the glory of them, in the spilling of a water- 
vase, insomuch that when his winged guide brought him back to 
earth again, he found the vessel he had overturned at his departure 
yet pouring forth its contents. That was a miracle ; but though 
there was no change in the world while Mohammed tarried in the 
heavens, I fear there is change since I dwelt in Gehenna. The very 
Nation that I knew in Ireland is broken and destroyed; and the 
place that knew it shall know it no more. To America has fled the 
half-starved remnant of it; and the phrase that I have heard of late 
—“ a new Ireland in America, 77 conveys no meaning to my mind. 
Ireland without the Irish—The Irish out of Ireland—neither of these 
can be our country. Yet who can tell what the chances and changes 
of the blessed war may bring us? I believe in moral and spiritual 
electricity—I believe that a spark, caught at some happy moment, 
may give life to masses of comatose humanity;—that dry bones, as 
in Ezekiel 7 s vision, may live ; that out of the “ Exodus 77 of the Celts 
may be born a Return of the Heracleida?. 

Czar, I bless thee. I kiss the hem of thy garment. I drink to thy 
health and longevity. Give us War in our time, 0 Lord! 

19^4.—We bid farewell to our New Orleans friends. We weigh 
anchor: “Prometheus 77 for the Empire City, “Pampero 77 for the 
Crescent City ; and gladly we see the low, tropical jungle, with the 
wooden houses of Greytown (peopled by extortioners and vermin), 
and the swampy delta of the San Juan, receding from our stern. 


360 


JAIL JOUKNAL. 


Nicaragua Smith has looked with almost a fatherly interest upon this 
isthmus of his affections, on whose future destinies he shed of old the 
radiance of the New York Sun. Since we landed at San Juan del 
Sur till we left Greytown, he has gazed curiously and keenly at 
whatsoever was visible, with a view to future American colonization, 
so as to make it and its facilities of traffic a sure and inexpugnable 
possession of the American Republic for ever more. 

This evening, as we sat on deck and smoked, watching the low- 
lying coast vanishing behind us, we entered upon high discourse, 
touching the “destinies” of Central America. In Nicaragua’s 
opinion, there are several other reasons besides the imperative need 
of mastering, owning, and securing against interference, the best route 
from Atlantic to Pacific, which make it expedient for the United 
States to exclude and deny all British interference here. In the first 
place, my excellent friend considers that the British, by setting up a 
drunken diseased Sambo for king, and trying to get United States 
ships to pay harbor dues to his mangy Majesty, mean a mock at Re¬ 
publican institutions ; so, he would have the United States seize, 
without delay, upon the whole concern, king and kingdom ; sell his 
majesty to a sugar-planter, who would give him his proper work to 
do ; and let England vindicate the cause of her ally as she could and 
dared. Moreover, said Nicaragua, the present disorderly and anar¬ 
chical condition of that villainous kraal,—pointing with his cigar to the 
marine metropolis of Mosquitia—is disgraceful and dangerous. Six 
or seven hundred Americans, men and women, once in the fortnight, 
brought here and delivered up to that gang of reprobates, abandoned 
of God and man! “ Then,” he added, “ consider their bad drinks 
(Nicaragua has become in five years a thorough American, and this 
grievance seems to sting him). On the whole, considering the Bri¬ 
tish protectorate in Central America, and British insolence towards 
the United States in that matter, and adverting, moreover, to the 
poisonous liquors vended here, “ my politics,” said Nicaragua, are fully 
described in that confession of faith announced once by a Missouri 
citizen— 4 1 am agin bad brandy, and for the next war.’ ” 

21st .—We are coasting along the northwestern shores of Cuba, 
and within five miles of the shore. It has a ridge of mountains not 
very high ; between the hills and the shore rich plantations, boun¬ 
teous in sugar and tobacco. Amongst our passengers there is much 
talk of Lopez, the Pampero, and the Isle of Pines. The prevailing 
sentiment on board, in regard to the fair Queen of the Antilles (as I 


HAVANA — A T A EE 8 . 


367 


collect the same), may be expressed in these words “ She is bound to 
come in.” 

22nd .—Shortly after daybreak this morning, we were under Jhe 
Moro Castle, steaming into the narrow entrance which leads into the 
harbor of Havana. The towers and batteries of the Moro were on oui 
left, bristling with guns ; another battery on the right 5 the passage 
about a quarter of a mile wide : a place intimidating to the heart of 
filibustero. Clearly, Havana is no game for an excursion party of 
Louisiana sympathizers ; but, if the Creoles be really as disaffected 
and oppressed as they are represented, a landing anywhere, under a 
bold leader, would soon carry the country, leaving Havana to be last 
devoured. 

A signal from the castle brought us to : a boat with officers of her 
Catholic majesty boarded us, and, after some questions, left, and the 
Prometheus passed on. Soon a noble city appeared on oui right, a 
wide basin opened before us, crowded with ships of all nations ; the 
Prometheus proceeded to a kind of wharf on the southern side o( the 
harbor, where she is to take in coals j and there \\e found another Ame¬ 
rican ocean steamship, coaling for her voyage to Charleston. 

My American friend pointed to a suburb on the shore of the bay, 
about two miles from us. “ There,” he said, “ is Atares. In the 
castle, which you see above, Crittenden and the fifty Americans wei e 
confined ; and, on the open ground before it, thoy were shot as pirates. 
The balance is against us, but the account remains open. 

Here we remain till to-morrow afternoon. 

23 d. _Last night Nicaragua took the boys with him to the city, in 

company with two or three American gentlemen, and went to the 
famous theatre, where an opera troupe at present delights the faith¬ 
ful subjects of her Catholic majesty; but soldiers were drawn tip 
before the theatre ; and soldiers marshalled the playgoers to their 
places. If there be disaffection in Havana against the government, 
it seems they are prepared to repress its manifestation in the theatre. 

To-day, I explored part of the city with Nicaragua and our senten¬ 
tious American friend. The streets are stately and clean, but narrow 
and sombre ; the shops are cavernous, and the people have a quiet, 
and subdued aspect. Everywhere troops are on guard ; and fine, 
soldierly-looking men they are. On the island are twenty-five thou¬ 
sand of them ; and all from old Spain. “ If the Cubans,” said our 
sententious friend, “ are well-affected and well-off, as all Captain- 
Generals make it a rule to say,—what is the use of these troops?” 


368 


J A I I, J O UENAL, 


“ Why, to meet yoiu* American filibusters on the shore.” 

“ And the British army in Ireland ?—Is that to meet a foreign 
invader, or to crush native rebellion?” 

“ What other proofs have you of disaffection among the Creoles ? 
Does it show itself through the Press?” 

“ There is no Press, except a government Press, as in Ireland—and 
that is another proof of notorious disaffection.” 

“ And what else ?” 

“ The disarming of the native population. Cuba and Ireland are 
the two islands of Arms Bills, the hunting-fields of gens-d’armes, 
the paradises of informers and detectives.” 

“Yet the Government shows no particular jealousy of strangers. 
Ilere are we, all presumably Americans, possibly devotees of the 
4 Lone Star,’ walking peacefully in the streets of Havana, and dis¬ 
cussing the wrongs of Cuba.” 

“Yes ; but we did not come ashore without a Government permit. 
The Captain-General knows us, and has his hundred eyes upon us. 
Get you into a vola.nte, drive round and through the city by all 
manner of circuitous routes ; and a mounted officer will follow you all 
the way, and take note of where you call.” 

“ But what are the substantial wrongs of Cuba?” 

“ A wealthy State Church, maintained for the comfort of Spanish 
clergymen ; high taxes imposed on indispensable articles of import ; 
the revenues of the island swallowed up by thousands of civil and 
military officials, who gather fortunes here, and spend them in 
Madrid ; every honorable career barred against the Creoles and their 
sons, and contempt poured upon them by every younger son of every 
hungry hidalgo, who comes here to do them the honor of devouring 
their substance. W r hat do you think of this ?” 

“ My friend, it is another Ireland.” 

“ Except in the matter of patience and perseverance in starvation. 
There, the Irish are unmatched amongst the white inhabitants of the 
earth. No people will lie down and die of hunger by myriads and 
millions, save only the natives of that gem of the sea.” 

In reply, I could but bite my tongue. 

-We went into several tobacconists’ stores. In every one they 

were making cigaritas. Then we strolled into Dominica’s elegant 
restaurant, with a small court inside, refreshed by a beautiful fountain. 
Passed on to the palace of the Captain General, a very handsome 
and massive-looking house, near the quay. In front of it is a shady 



PASS NEAR BERMUDA. 


869 


court, open on all sides to the streets. There I stood awhile, and 
looked up at the palace with horror and hatred, as at another Dublin 
Castle. Those two strongholds of Hell! When will they be 
razed and swept'away, and the places where they stand sown with 
salt! 

We c?hme on board again 5 and on getting into our boat at the quay, 
we perceived that the eyes of soldiers were upon us. This evening 
we passed again under the guns of the Moro ; are entering the Gulf- 
stream, and have lost sight of the mountain diadem that crowns the 
Queen of the Antilles. Now for New York at last! 

2 Qth .—We have passed the coasts of Florida and Georgia, and are 
fast coming into cold weather ; for it is already winter in the north¬ 
ern hemisphere, and our gallant ship is “ stemming nightly to the 
pole.” 

Almost off Cape Hatteras. On our starboard beam, and at no very 
great distance, lie the Bermudas—islands of weeping, and cursing, 
and gnashing of teeth : my dismal dungeon for ten months. After 
circumnavigating the globe, looking in at three continents, sur\ eying 
wide spaces of sea and land— 

Ovpea re ctuoevra dalaooa re rixyetraa — 

I can fancy that I see the baleful cedar-groves blackening the eastern 
horizon. What change has come for the better, since I ruminated 
there, four years ago, in my cell of pain ? If I am to consider myself 
a “ martyr,” has my martyrdom done any service to my cause ? or 
the reverse ? If I regard myself as a mere prisoner, fraudulently 
seized upon, and cruelly used, what chance have I ever lor justice in 
my own person, to say nothing of justice for my country ? Ileie I 
am now, with all dungeons behind me, and a w r ide world just opening 
before—that is to say, the time of irresponsible idleness and mid¬ 
summer nights’ dreams, is past ; the time of responsible action in 
broad day is upon me. Shall I do good, or evil in my generation ? 
Or would it be better that I had died amongst those black cedars 
there, and had been buried in that foul cemetery, where all the dust 
is dust of demons ! 

A gloomy question to press itself upon me now, just as I am about 
to tread the land of Washington ! I am going to be a demigod for 
two or three weeks—so my American friends w^arn me, with many a 
prudent caution— going to have a reception, and dinners, and shall be 


370 


JAIL JOURNAL. 


material for paragraphs in the morning papers. If I were a fool, I 
would be happy. 

Well; from the gobemouches, good Lord, deliver me ! As for my 
cause, I know that it has been just and true : that it is now hopeless, 
would be treason to say. England, the enemy of the human race, 
will come down and sit in the dust like the Daughter of Babylon ; 
the “ interests of Civilization ” in Europe will be dislocated : that is 
to say, the rogues are falling out ; and then some of the honest folk 
may have their own. But on the whole, I say, Magna est Veritas, et 
non pracvalebit. 

20th .—This morning, the heights of Nevisink—then Sandy Hook, 
Staten Island, Long Island. We steam rapidly up the outer harbor* 
My wife and I walking on deck, enjoying and admiring the glee of 
some of our New York acquaintances on board, as the great ocean 
avenue to their native city opens before them after years of absence 
in California. They eagerly point out every well-known feature in 
the vast bay ; and ask us to admit that it is the most beautiful bay 
in the world. I answer that it is the most useful. 

In truth, we can hardly speak ; for now we pass the Narrows ; 
leave Staten Island behind ; and straight before us looms the dense 
mass of the mighty city, fringed on both sides with forests of masts 
that stretch away into the blue distance. Hardly less magnificent, the 
city of Brooklyn crowns its heights, and lines for miles the shores of 
Long Island with stately buildings. Williamsburg on this side ; 
Jersey City on that,—a constellation of cities!—a ganglion of human 


life! 


We come up to the pier. My brother and Meagher step on board 
to welcome us,—we go into a boat, which takes us to a steam-ferry ; 
without entering the city at all, we pass straight over to Brooklyn 
where my mother awaits our arrival; and here ends my Journal. 




T1IE END. 














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